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Excelsior Dialogues 



COMPRISING 



New and Original Material Prepared Expressly for 

this Work by a G>rps of Able and 

Experienced Writers 



-^-ry '3 ^ Edited and Arranged by ,^ ' ^ 

PHINEAS GARRETT 

Editor of the ^MOO Choice Selections Series'' 



Philadelphia 

The Penn Publishing; Company 

1897 



V^ 



i' 






64664 



Copyright 1897 by The Penn Publishing Company 



PREFACE. 



Of the nnmeroiis collections of dialogues already 
in print, professedly intended for the use of schools, 
some are, in the main, abridgments or modifications of 
productions which have acquired a greater or less de- 
gree of popularity from representations upon the boards 
of theatres — oftentimes so thoroughly expurgated as to 
have removed nearly all the vitality and point of the 
original; others are mere compilations, not always the 
most judicious, of matter which, to speak as favorably 
as possible, has become somewhat stale ; others seek, 
by labored and stilted platitudes, for the most part put 
in the mouths of the veriest children, to enforce ques- 
tions of morals about which there is scarcely any con- 
troversy ; others can be serviceable to the youngest 
members only of any school ; while yet others, of a 
better class than either of the former, lack that variety 
of presentation of character — considered in regard to 
the number of participators in the dialogue, its adapta- 
bility to either sex, and the manifold phases of social 

(3) 



4: PREFACE. 

life brought to view — which all who have ever engaged 
in arranging for an "Exhibition" have found not the 
least of their many perplexities. 

In the judgment of those who have interested them- 
selves in the preparation of the followhig dialogues — 
a judgment based upon actual experience in schools 
and associations in which a dialogue is so often de- 
manded for interest and relief — a variety is indispen- 
sable in any collection which aims to meet the real 
wants of those most immediately concerned. 

In the term variety are included considerations touch- 
ing the number of the characters introduced in the 
different dialogues, the sex of the characters, and the 
expression sought to be given. 

A word or two on each of these heads • 
1. Number of characters. Instances are compara 
tively rare, especially in our larger schools and literary 
associations, where dialogues with but two or three in- 
terlocutors are in request, since they afford an oppor- 
tunity for the display of talent on the part of but a 
small portion of those interested. Moreover, in a dia- 
logue introducing many characters one person need 
not — generally speaking, cannot — tower above all his 
associates, since prominence must be given to several 
in order that the interest may not flag. 

2 Sex of characters. Since the question so long 



PREFACE. 5 

mooted — as to the propriety or expediency of females 
participating in dialogues under certain limitations sug- 
gested by the common-sense of most — may be con- 
sidered definitely settled by the practice of our best 
educational institutions, it is certainly desirable that 
that sex should have as full scope as the other in the 
representation of characters and scenes from real life. 

3. Expression. In any book of dialogues, taken as a 
whole, the range of character should be as great as 
possible, introducing the familiar, the humorous, the 
serious, the pathetic, the jo3^ous, the satiric — in short, 
the actual manifestations of every-day life in this rough- 
and-tumble world of ours — restrained only by the die 
tates of pure morality. The good aimed at should bt 
evolved, as it is in society, indirectly, rather than os- 
tentatiously and formally thrust into the foreground tc 
serve as an anvil upon which each participant is tc 
hammer out his truism. 

Influenced by these views, this book of dialogues has 
been prepared. It is intended for advanced pupils in 
our institutions of learning, for literary associations, and 
for families. Having in mind those for whom it is 
written, less attention has been paid to the minutisd ol 
directions and to the manner of representation than 
would have been requisite, had it been arranged foi 
persons of a tenderer age. It is presumed that the 



6 PREFACE. 

actors in each dialogue will familiarize themselves with 
the reqLuirements necessary to a faithful representation 
of the whole. These could not be conveyed always in 
printed directions; were that possible, something more 
appropriate would often occur to the participants, ma- 
terially enhancing, at different times and in different 
places, the interest of the piece. 

The book, like its fellows, must abide the test of 
actual trial. Should it fail to supply the deficiency 
which undeniably exists, its authors, while regretting 
such result, can console themselves with the reflection 
that no effort has been spared on their part to make 
it worthy of success. 

Philadelphia, October i, ifftj. 



OOE"TEK"TS. 



Page. 

Tbachtsr Wanted. ; F. Crosby, A. M. 9 

The Countky Cousins E. M. Garrett. 20 

Running for Congress F. Crosby, A. M. 39 

The Wizard of Valley Forge H, S. Kent. 54 

Latest Sensation in Poduivk F. Crosby, A. M. 75 

Changing the Hundred Dollar Note ; ) 

> A. F. Bradley. 84 

or, False Pretensions Rebuked ) 

The False Accusation Mrs. Dr. JR. Morris Swander. 89 

Hiring Help F. Crosby, A. M. 93 

The Old Maid E. M. Garrett. 107 

An Hour in School F. Crosby, A. M. 123 

The Irish Voter E. S. Kent. 130 

The Bridal Wine Cup A. F. Bradley. 148 

The Professor F. Crosby, A. M. 150 

The City AND Country. AI>GhsLte..A Member of the Baltimore Bar. 163 

Trying to keep up the appearance) 

J. E. M. Garrett. 176 

OF A Gentleman ) 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



"TEACHER WANTED." 

CHARACTERS. 

'Squire Magnus, Examiner appointed by "The Board.' 

Caius Crispin,) -. , r tt -t-l r) j ». 

^ . > Members of " The Board. 

Dr. Justice, ) 

Charles Rugby, \ 

Matthew Button, ) 

Francis Frink, 

William Dent, \ . ,. r 011 

T T^ / Apphcants for a bchool. 

James Brown, ' ^^ 

Thomas High, 

Ralph Watson, 

Nicholas Narr, 

Spectators ad lib, 

'Squire Magnus. — I am glad to see so many canderdates 
here to-day. It shows that you know how to appreciate 
the advantages of an edecation, which, we all know, is 
one of the greatest things in this world. For what is a 
man or a woman, without edecation? I don't mean a 
college edecation — but some kind of a edecation — some 
kind of — of — of — of somethin' which helps him to git on 
in the world. I myself never went to school but six 
months ; but for all that I may say that edecation is of 
the paramountest importance — and I say agin that I am 
glad to see that you all think so. You are here to ivy to 
git our school. Our Board has appinted me to examine 
you ; and I want to tell you at the fust go-off that we 
^2 (9) 



10 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

intend to be j^utty partic'lar. We have a good right to 
be. The pay is fust-rate — thirty dollars a month and no 
school Saturday arternoons. Hands in this neighborhood 
are gittin' by the year only ten dollars a month and 
board. Of course we want our teacher to have book- 
larnin'. We can't git on without consid'rable of that 
But he must have somethin' more to keep a good school. 
He must haA^e good gumption; and we're a goin' to make 
up our minds by lookin' at you and a-hearin' on you and 
any way we can whether or no you come'up to our mark. 
And if 3^ou do, we're a goin' to take the one that comes 
up the nearist and stands the stiddiist. Now you all 
understand how the land lays. I speak right out just 
how 'tis without any beatin' round the bush. I think 
that's the only man-fashion way of dealin' atwixt man and 
man. Some on j^ou's got to be disappinted, in course, 
as there ain't no more than one school ; but those of you 
who do very well and don't git the school we'll testify to 
in our own hand-writin' — and it may help you to git 
some other school. Now jest write down on the paper 
afore you your names and ages — where you were born — 
how long you've teached — and where you've teached — 
whether you're married — and if you are, how large a 
family — and whether you're goin' to teach all your lives — 
and if you flog in school — and — that'll be enough. We 
want to know these facts, and have specimens of your 
handwritin'. When you git through you may leave the 
papers where they are, and we'll perceed with the exam- 
ernation. 

[ Candidates engage in writing.'] 

Mr. Rugby, [entering.'] — I hope I am not too late, gen- 
tlemen, to be considered an applicant for your school. I 
was unexpectedly detained by the condition of the roads. 

Dr. Justice. — Certainly not. Please take a seat. 

'Squire M. — It ain't too late, young man ; but I'll tell 
3^ou open and above board, I don't believe there's a bit 
of use in your bein' examined. You see the Board don't 
altogether like the way you kep' the school in Egypt 
last season. You didn't use no books — did you — but jist 
taught right out of your head ? 

Rugby I certainly did instruct orally so far as I 

could ; as I consider — 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 11 

'Squire M. — Oh, we wont argufy that pint, if you please. 
The majority of this Board's [looking significantly at Dr. 
J'.] mind's made up about that. If a master don't know 
enough to use a book, he don't know any too much — 
that's certain. And Avhat are books made for, I should 
like to know, if they aint to be used? Then, young man, 
over and above that, you didn't flog any at all. We 
[looking at Di\ J."] don't b'lieve in coaxin' and moralizin' 
and sech. So, as a friend, young man, who wishes 3^ou 
well, I wouldn't, if I were you, be examined here to-da3^ 

Dr. Justice. — 'Squire, 3^ou can speak for yourself, but 
not yet for the Board. Under our advertisement Mr. 
Rugb3^ is entitled to a fair and impartial examination. 

'Squire M. — Let him take it, if he wants it — and much 
good may it do him. We'll see by'n by, Dr. Justice, 
whether I speak for the Board, or who does. 

Rugby. — I thank 3'ou, Dr., for 3'our kindness, but I 
will, under the circumstances, remain as a looker-on. 
[Seats himself.'] 

'Squire M. — I see the canderdates have got done with 
their writin' the answers to them questions, so we'll now 
begin the examernation. Firstly, I shall ask you some 
questions about jograph3^ The one who sets there 
[pointing to his extreme righf] will answer fust, and the 
next the next, and so on. We can git on more harmo- 
niously that w^ay ; and there's nothin' like system in any 
business, as I used to tell my scholars — for I've teached 
some too, I tell you, [looking at Dr.] — but that's neither 
here nor there. What's 3^our name ? [pointing as before.'] 

Button. — Matthew Button, sir. 

'Squire. — Mr. Button, what's the highest mountains 
in the earth ? 

Button. — The Himalaya. 

'Squire, [taking up a well-worn hook.] — The what ? 

Button. — The Himala3'a. 

'Squire. — Do 3^ou mean the Himmerler ! Ko — that wont 
do. Mr. Narr — the Board [looking at Dr.] knows 3^our 
name — Mr. Narr, what do you sa3^ ? which is the highest ? 

Narr. — The Andes. 

'Squire. — That's right — well done, Mr. Narr. 

Frink. — I agree, sir, with Mr. Button, I think all the 
authorities put the Himalaj^as down as the highest. 



12 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

V^Squtre. — What may j^our name be, sir ? 

Frink Frink, sir, Francis Frink. 

'Squire. — Well, Mr. Frink, old Malte Brown, sir, which 
I hold here in my hand, sir — and which was a good jog- 
raphy for us, sir — says the Andes, sir — and so I say, sir — 
and so I decide. 

Dr. Justice. — Allow me to look at the geography, 
'Squire. 

'Squire, [^handing.'] — There 'tis. Dr. — you don't ketch 
me nappin' often — there 'tis, \_pointing.^ 

Dr. J. [i^eading title-page and returning hook.'] — I see 
this edition w^as printed in 1815. 

'Squire. — What if it w^as ? You don't suppose the 
Himmelers have growed ahead of the Andes seace, do 
you ? He — he — he I [laughs^ in which Crispin and Narr 
and several spectators join.] Now the next to Mr. Narr — 
what's the name ? 

Dent. — William Dent, sir. 

'Squire. — Mr. Dent, which is the longest river in the 
earth ? 

Dent. — The Mississippi. 

'Squire — No — the next — what name ? 

Brown. — James Brown. 

'Squire. — Mr. Brown, what's your answer ? 

Brown. — The same — the Mississippi. 

'Squire. — Do you all say so ? [^//, except Narr, say 
"3^es."] What do you say, Mr. Narr? 

Narr. — I say the Amazon. 

'Squire. — Right agin, Mr. Narr — right agin. Do you 
w^ant to look agin. Doctor ? \_offering the hook to Dr. with 
finger on the place — Dr. shakes his head.] Mebbe you 
spose the Misersip has stretched some out sence this book 
was writ. He — he — he, \_laughter as he/ore.] Next can- 
derdate — what name ? 

High. — Thomas High. 

'Squire. — Mr High, how many States is there among 
the TJnited States ? 

High. — Thirty-seven. 

'Squire. — Give us the names of all of 'em. Show us 
how fast you can say 'em. \_High repeats till he comes 
to West Virginia.] Hold on a bit — hold on I You don't 
call that a State — do you ? Why, 'taint no more a State 



EXCE2LS10B DIALOGUES. 13 

than our town of Joppy is a State. Virginny — old Yir- 
ginny — is the name. 

High. — All of our latest geographies, sir, class it as 
a State, sir; and it has been recognized as a State by 
Congress and by the Supreme Court of the United States. 

'Squire, [_excitedly.2 — Who cares if it has ? Who cares 
what Congress does? or the Supreme Court — that is, a 
part on it ? I tell you, old Yirginu}^ don't recognize it — 
and that's enough for anybody Don't bring in an}^ of 
your blasted politics into school matters, Mr. High — that's 
the curse of teachin' and preachin'. 

Dr. J. — How many States does your geography give, 
'Squire ? 

'Squire — That is a small question. Jest as if we 
couldn't make as many States as we please — we the sov- 
ereign, independent people I 

Dr. J. — Oh, I thought you didn't call West Virginia a 
State, although she was made such by the people and ac- 
cepted by the people's representatives. 

'Squire. — No more I don't, I say. 'Taint a State more'n 
I am. But I shan't tall? politics with you now — the Board 
[looking significantly at Dr,'] are examinin' now. That's 
enough for jography. The Board can tell well enough 
by this time who knows most about that. Now we'll ex- 
amine in 'rethmetic — and if any canderdate don't know 
a good deal about that, I can tell him it'll be a poor show 
for him. 'Rethmetic is the most importance to us next 
to the Bible and the Constertution. What's your name, 
sir? [to the next in order.'] 

Watson. — Ralph Watson, sir. 

'Squire. — How fur have you ciphered in 'rethmetic, 
Mr. Watson ? 

Watson. — I have used different text-books, sir, and be- 
lieve that I understand the principles involved in all the 
processes contained in them. 

'Squire. — That don't answer the question. How fur 
have you ciphered, sir ? 

Watson, [looking at the others significantly.'] — I hav6 
been through the book, sir. 

'Squire. — That's the way I like to hear you talk. 
You've been clear through the book — in course, then, 
you've ciphered in Dabollses, and Adamses, and Pikeses 



14 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Xow, Mr. Watson, what do you consider the most im- 
portant rule in 'rethmetic — the rule, I mean, that'll show 
you how to do most any sum in the book ? 

Watson, [hesitating. '\ — Why — why, sir 

'Squire. — Don't you know that ? and ben clear through ? 
Why I knew it afore we got half way to it. 

Watson.— I think addition and subtraction involve 
every principle in arithmetic. 
.^^^,,,.,*'«'^ QUIRE. — What I Them easy things ! [looking deri- 
sively, in which Crispin joins.^ Way back to the begin- 
ning of the book I I'm afraid Mr. — Mr. Watson — you 
didn't learn every thing, if you did go clear through. 
What is your rule, Mr. Karr, wherever you can work it 
in — fust, last, and all the time ? 
' Narr.— The Rule of Three, sir. That'll git us out of 
about any thing we ought to git out of— and when with 
that afore us we can't, we may be tol'ble sure we hadn't 
oughter. 

'Squire. — That's so, Mr. Narr— every word is true. 
Why, gen'l'men, I can show you my sum book if you 
come to the house now — more than two hundred sums, 
gen'l'men — more'n two hundred — and there ain't one in 
the whole kerboodle but what's did — and did all straight, 
gitting the answer jest as 'tis in the book — did by the 
Rule of Three. Mr. Bottom — that's your name, I b'lieve, 
[pointing to Button.^ 

Button. — Button, sir — Matthew Button — 

'Squire. — Beg j^our pardon — Mr. Button — ^you know 

all about fractions — don't you ? How do you divide one 

fraction by another fraction ? [setting himself back in his 

ohair and eying the candidate as if he had given him a 

"poser.^^2 

Button. — I add, subtract, and divide fractions by 
bringing them to a common denominator and adding, 
subtracting, and dividing their numerators as if they 
were whole numbers. 

'Squire. — Whew I Say that over agin ! [Button repeata 
more deliberately than before."] Mr. Bottom — beg youi 
pardon — Mr. Bottle — 

Button. — Button, sir — 

'Squire. — Beg your pardon heartil}^ — Mr. Button — 
what book tells you to do all that ? 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 15 

Button. — I don't bear in mind any particular text- 
■ book that gives such a direction ; but I think it results 
naturally from an analysis of principles. 

'Squire. — " From an alosis of principles !" Now what 
'rethmetic under the «un and heavens gives you any rule 
for doin' that ? I should like to have 3^ou tell me one — 
and I've seen and handled putty consid'ble of 'rethmetics 
in my day. 

Button. — I know of no text-book worthy of a place in 
the school-room which does not deal largely in the an- 
alytic method. 

'Squire. — You don't I Well, young man, when j^ou've 
lived longer in this 'ere world and learned a few more 
things, mebbe you'll find out there is a few of them that 
don't dabble in your what-d'ye-call-it method. Haint any 
of you canderdates been cipherin' in anything but this 
new-fangled alosis ? You hain't, Mr. Narr, I know. How 
do you divide one fraction by another ? 

Narr. — I turn the fust fraction bottom side up and 
then multiply the two upper figgcrs together and put 'em 
above a line ; and then 1 multiply the two lower figgers 
together and put 'em under the same line — and that allers 
gives me the answer, ef I do the multiplyin' right. 

'Squire. — And that's the way to do it, too — the only 
way. Who ever heerd of 'tother ? 

Dr. J. — 'Squire, may I ask you ivJiy you perform the 
operation in that way ? 

'Squire. — " Perform the operation I'^ Don't hev any 
of your doctor stuff in along 'rethmetic. 'Twon't work. 
I do 'em so — and allers did, ever sence I began cipherin' 
in fractions — 'cause it gins the answer. And I s'pose 
that's why Mr. ]N"arr does so. Aint that reason enough? 
Or perhaps you think you can't fetch it 'cept by alosis ! 
[laughter as hefo7^e.'\ And I may as well say right here 
that, from what the Board [looking at Dr.] has' seen so 
fur, 'taint worth while to bother the canderdates any more 
'bout 'rethmetic. The Board thinks the Board knows 
what's wanted here in Joppy — and 'taint any of your 
alosis, I can tell ye 1 [looking at Crispin who nods assent.'] 
Perhaps some of you canderdates have ben goin' to these 
\Iormon schools — haint you ? 

Dr. J. — You mean Normal schools, I presume, 'Squire. 



16 EXCELSIOR tHALOGUUS. 

Squire. — Don't make no difference — Mormon or Nor- 
val — it's all the same — them things won't go down yet 
a while in this 'ere neighborhood. We'll try a little spell- 
in' now, gen'l'men. How many of you can spell the first 
part of my name? Hold up your hands all who can I/- 
l^Narr raises his hand.'] Is that all ? 

Dr. J. — Perhaps the gentlemen are not acquainted 
with your first name, 'Squire. 

Squire. — I should think they might, hein' as I've lived 
here in Joppy, man and boy, goin' on now hard on to sixty 
year — and ben Justice of the Peace for more'n eleven 
on 'em. I think it's a fair question; but I wont stick 
about that. My full name is Square Jotham Magnus 
Now — hands up^ — who can spell my fust name ? [aZZ hands 
up."] Now that's somethin' like. We'll hear you, sir I 
[^pointing to Dent.] 

Dent. — J-o (jo) — t-h-a-m (tham) — Jotham. [^ffands 
down, except Narr^s.'J 

Squire. — I do declare — ^if that don't beat all I Mr. 
Narr, you'll hev to show 'em how agin I 

N ARR. — S-q-u-a-r-e — Square. 

'Squire — In course 'tis — the world over I Who ever 
heerd of a Justice of the Peace's first name being any 
thing but Square in the whole United States I 

Dent. — I thought 'Squire a mere title, and as such 
an abbreviation of e-s-q-u-i-r-e— esquire, and added to a 
person's name. 

'Squire. — If that's all the good your schoolin* hez 
done you, you might ez well have let it all go. Who ever 
heerd me called any thing but Square (S-q-u-a-r-e) more'n 
'leven year now ? Don't my own wife call me so — and 
all the children ? And I should like to know what's a 
man's fust name if 'tisn't the name folks first use — the 
handle they take hold on. Young man, if you ain't any 
better booked up in the constertutional law than not to 
know that a Square's fust name is Square all over the 
inhabited earth, you're got a good deal to learn yit — I 
can tell you that. [^Laughter as before.] Mr. Narr, I'll 
give you another. How do you spell beefsteak ? 

Narr. — B-e-a-f (beef) — s-t-a-k-e (steak) — beefsteak. 

'Squire. — Right — all right — and that's one of the 
hardest words in the whole English language, I can tell 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 17 

you. A niJin wlio can spell that without missin' a bit, as 
you did, can speW any thing he can lay his jaws to. 

Dr. J. — I may have raisunderstood Mr. Narr ; but I 
certainl}^ thought he didn't spell the word correctly. 

'Squire. — Spell it agin, Mr. Narr — spell it agin — for 
the doctor's benefit. But the Board is satisfied, [_looking 
at Dr.] 

Narr. — \_SpeUing as before.'} 

Dr. J. — So I understood. Do you mean to say that is 
the correct spelling of that word, 'Squire? 

'Squire. — To be sure I do. What does it spell, ef it 
don't spell beefsteak, I should like to know. Come now — 
tell me that. I haint the dictionary book here, but I 
looked at it jest afore I left the house, and I tell you that 
spellin' 's right I \bringing his fist doivn with emphasis 
upon the table,"] B-e-a-f-s-t-a-k-e I 

Dr. J. — Here is Webster's Dictionary, 'Squire, (hand- 
ing it) and it gives a different spelling. 

'Squire, (examining ) — I tell you that's wrong — I know 
it is I B-double e-f-s t-e-a-k I Who ever heerd of sech 
spellin' afore ? 'Taint right, I tell ye. [^Looking at title- 
page.] Oh, I might er knowed. It's one of them Yankee 
school books ; and everybody knows they never did spell 
right nohow. 

Dr. J. [^Iianding.] — Here is Worcester's, with the word 
spelled in the same way as Webster gives it. 

'Squire. — 'Taint right, I say, [excitedh/] 'tain't right, 
I tell you— and I don't care who says 'tis, ^looking at 
title-page.] Jest as I s'posed — another Yankee book. 

Dr. J.- — But 3^ou know, 'Squire, the only dictionaries 
published in this country and recognized as authorities 
are published in New England. 

'Squire. — 'Taint so. Let's see an English dictionary — 
we don't want a New- English dictionary — the old will 
do well enough for us. 

Dr. J. — Here are Walker's, and Johnson's, and Todd's, 
[^handing thevi,] and they agree with the others. 

'Squire, [iHsing and gesticulating violently.] — 'Taint so, 
I tell ye — and that ends the matter — and if you \^to Dr.] 
can't find any better business than interferin' with this 
'ere examination arter the Board's appinted me to 'tend 
to it, you'd better go somewhere else. 



18 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Del J. — l^o offence was intended, 'Squire. T merely 
thought you, in common with other men, might some- 
times be mistaken. 

'Squire, [seating himself. 2 — When I know a thing, I 
know it — and that's the whole on it. The Board appinted 
this examernation fairly — I was iairly appinted to take 
charge on't — and I mean to do it as fairly as I know how — 
and ef any man can do more'n that, I should like to see 
him — that's all. Comin' 'round to business agin — I don't 
know's there much more to be done. We've examined 
the canderdates in jography, 'rethmetic and spellin', and 
we can look at their writin' any time. What do you say, 
Mr. Crispin ? 

Crispin. — Oh — me I Any thing you say. Square, I'm 
agreed to. 

Dr. J. — Don't you propose any examination in gram- 
mar? 

'Squire. — What's the use of grammar, I'd like to 
know? I never heerd on't when I was a boy, and I never 
teached it when I kep' school. 

Dr. J. — But, surel}^ 'Squire, you must regard it as an 
important qualification in a teacher, to be able to instruct 
others how to write and speak our language correctlj^ 

'Squire. — That's jest the pint. Perhaps you don't 
know my idees on that subjick. My notion is that the 
Almighty starts us all off in this world when we're old 
enough knowin' what to say and how to say it. For my 
part I think it's flyin' in the face and e3^es of Proverdence 
meddlin' with grammar and sech things. 

Dr. J. — Why don't you use the same argument — if I 
may call it so — concerning any branch of education ? 
Arithmetic, for example, of which you spoke so highly a 
short time ago ? 

'Squire — You don't see the pint, doctor. Figger's a 
consekence of the fall of our first parents. In the garden 
of Edin when they was good they didn't need it — but 
they could talk their language right — whatever it was, 
mebbe ours and mebbe not— for they were made to ; but 
'rethmetic came in, arter they sinned and were druv out 
of the garden. God didn't teach 'em that, and so they 
have to learn it. Don't }■ ou understand now ? Them's 
my views. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 19 

Pr. J. — Yes — I comprehend 3^011, 'Squire — Lut about 
reading. 

'Squire. — Wall, about readin' 's about this — 'taint much 
nohow. We can pick that up any time we choose. My 
'pinion is there's too much on't done by some folks. Ef 
they'd do less on't and use their head-pieces more, I 
think they'd be a mighty sight better off. I don't s'pose 
anybody would offer to take our school who couldn't 
read ; and I wouldn't — appinted by this Board to ex- 
amine canderdates — I wouldn't insult any one by askin' 
'em to read. Read ! In course they can read, all on 
'em 1 What are they here for if they can't ? Aint that so, 
Mr. Crispin? 

Crispin. — Sartin, Square, sartin — any thing you say 
I'm agreed to. 

'Squire. — Then we might as well as not call this ex- 
amernation adjourned sign dy. And as I said when we 
first started off, some of the canderdates will have to be 
disappinted. The Board has thought this matter over 
carefully and has decided that Mr, Nicholas JN'arr is en- 
titled to have our school — firstly, because the Board knows 
him — and nextly, because he has showed more good horse- 
sense, by and round, durin' the whole examernation than 
any other canderdate — meanin' by what I say no disrespec 
to any of the rest, who can, I reelly b'lieve, pass a better 
examernation when the3^'re older and have studied harder 
and thought longer. The meeting is closed, gen'l'men. 
[rising.'] 

Dr. J. — Do I understand, 'Squire, that this is a meet- 
ing of the Board ? 

'Squire. — What else would 3^ou call it ? ETaint the 
Board met — and haint the Board examined — and haint 
the Board gin out the school to Nicholas Narr — and aint 
the Board adjourned? What more'd }^ou have? 

Dr. J. — Then, here and now I wash my hands of the 
whole proceeding, \lianding a paper.'] Here, 'Squire, is 
my resignation as a member of this Board. I had some 
faint hope, I confess, when I was appointed to the posi- 
tion, that I might be of some service in advancing the 
cause of thorough common school education ; but, if any 
thing were needed, this day's proceedings have convinced 
me that my further connection with your Board can only 



20 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

be maintained at the expense of my self-respect and can 
in nowise advance those interests which I have so much 
at heart. 

'Squire. — Jest as j^ou please, Doctor — you must act 
accordin' to your own light, whether it's big or little. 
Tlie Board accepts your resignin', and Joppy will try and 
survive till she can get somebody in your place. 

Dr. J. — To my young friends who have been, individ- 
ually and collectively, so grossly insulted here to-day b}^ 
what you are pleased to call the Board, I w^ould simply 
say in leaving them that the day's annoyances may not 
prove utterly without profit to them, if they have learned 
— as I doubt not they have by this time — never to visit 
Joppa — at least, until civilization shall have dawned upon 
us — should they again chance to see an advertisement of 
a " Teacher Wanted." 

Cm-tain falls. 



THE COUNTRY COUSINS. 

CHARACTERS. 

Lizzie Twist, a Nev/ York Lady. 

Kate Carlton, her cousin from Vermont. 

Jane Carlton, sister to Kate. 

Clara Deans, intimate friend of Lizzie's, 

Count D'Estange, an impostor. 

Mr. Twist, Lizzie's father. 

Scene i. — City drawing-roo?n. Miss Twist at home. Enter 
Miss Clara Deans, 

Miss Twist. — I am so glad you have come, dear Clara. 
I have been looking and wishing for you all morning. I 
want to consult you about my birthday party. Pa says 
I shall have one. 

Miss Deans. — Oh, that will be so nice. You told me 
when 3^ou last met that you wanted to have one, and I 
have been so anxious to hear what had you concluded on, 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 21 

I felt this morning that I could not wait one single clay 
longer, so here am I. 

Miss T. — I was just coming around to see you about 
it. I want 3^our opinion about the arrangements. 

Miss D. — You have such splendid rooms, dear Lizzie. 
You can have so many guests. 

Miss T. — Yes ; I wanted to have a large assembly, but 
Ma sa^^s not too large, but very select, if we would create 
a sensation, and you know that is what we shall aim at; 
your pai'ty created such an excitement after you came 
home from Washington. 

Miss D. — Oh, 3^es. Pa being a member of Congress, 
he was acquainted with so many ; you do not hope to 
lival that ? 

Miss T. — No ; but then Pa is quite an influential man, 
and I hope we shall make a fine display, for you know it 
will be so nice to hear every one praise our splendid en- 
tertainment. Oh, I am so anxious for the time to come. 
Pshaw, there is the door-bell ; I wish I had told John I 
would be at home to no person after you came ; but ser- 
vants are so ignorant, he will bring every one in. 
\_Enter servant with a letter.'] 

Miss T. — La, a letter for me ; why who can it be from ? 
1 am sure I never saw that handwriting before; it is a 
strange post-mark too. Excuse me, Clara, I must see. 

Miss D — Certainly I will, Lizzie, for you know I am 
also interested ; from some bashful lover, I suppose; mind, 
we have no secrets from each other. 
[^Mias T. opens and reaids, and then dashing it to the floor 

loalks up and down in the highest excitement.'] 

Miss D. — Mercy on me, dear Lizzie, what have you 
been reading ? what is the matter ? 

Miss T. — Matter enough ; only just think of it ; I 
declare I never was so provoked in all my life. I really 
shall go crazy I 

Miss D. — Do tell me what it is. I am almost dying to 
know. I never saw you so excited before. 

Miss T. — Well, when you hear you will not be surprised 
at my excitement. Only just to think of it. I wish I 
had no cousins in the world. I would not care if they 
did not live in the country, but country people are never 
more than half-witted; it really is too bad. 



22 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Miss D. — Indeed, dear Lizzie, if you would only tell 
me what it is, I could sympathize with you. 

Miss T. — Well, in a few days, if Miss Jane Carlton 
has not the good luck to get her neck broken on the way, 
she will be here to remain half the winter, and Heavens 
only know how much longer ; a pretty time I shall have 
introducing her to society. 

Miss D. — Well, indeed, it is very provoking; but 
maybe she is not so very ignorant, [^picking up the letter ;] 
if this is her writing, it is certainly a ver^^ elegant hand ; 
she may be well educated. 

Miss T. — Well educated or not, I don't want her here 
just at this particular time. I do not know what evil 
possessed Pa to invite them. If Ma and Aunt Matilda 
were there last summer to spend a few weeks, that is no 
reason we should be harassed with their awkward daugh- 
ter this winter. 

Miss D. — I am sure I feel very sorry for you, dear 
Lizzie. Could you not write, telling her not to come ? 

Miss T. — Then Pa would be angry. Her mother is hi^ 
sister, I don't see what girls marry country clowns for; 
I think they ought never to trouble their city relatives 
afterwards. Now if they were coming from the South, 
I should not mind it so much, it sounds so aristocratic to 
speak of one's Southern relatives, but these are from the 
Green Mountains and smell decidedly rural. 

Miss D. — I would not let it worry me, dear Lizzie. 
By the way, I met Count D'Estange this morning; you 
intend to have him at your party. 

Miss T. — That letter has driven all thoughts of party 
out of my head. I wish I had said nothing about having 
one. An elegant time I shall have introducing Miss 
Jane Carlton to my guests. 

Miss D. — Dear Lizzie, please think no more about it, 
and do answer my question — 3^ou intend having the 
Count at your party ? 

Miss T. — Yes, I wish to have him present, but Pa is no 
friend to him. He says he is more like a Green Moun- 
tain Yankee than a French Count; but Pa has such 
absurd notions about some thino-s. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 23 

Miss D. — Oh, my ! Why I thmk he is a perfect gentle- 
man. I admire him very much. He wears such a 
splendid moustache. 

Miss T. — Oh, dear, that letter ; I cannot think of any 
thing but its contents. 

Miss D. — Lizzie, I am so sorry ; but were I you, I would 
write and tell her not to come. You need not let your 
Pa know you received the letter. 

Miss T. — I have a good mind to do so. Come, let's go 
iato the library. You will assist me to dictate it. 

Miss D. — Indeed, dear Lizzie, I would willingly do so, 
but I have other engagements. I have already overstayed 
my time. 

Miss T. — Oh, I do wish you could spend the day here ; 
and what a blunderer I am — so much talking and never 
asked you to lay aside your bonnet ; please excuse my im- 
politeness. 

Miss D. — Certainly ; if I had intended more than a 
short call, I should have laid it off without invitation ; 
you know I am always perfectly at home here. 

Miss T. — That is right. I am glad you feel so ; it is 
this feeling towards you that prevents me from treating 
you with more formality ; but as you cannot remain 
to-day, come soon and spend the day. My party will be 
in three weeks ; come next Thursday. 

Miss D. — If nothing prevents, I will ; but I shall see 
you before then ; you will be around in the mean time ? 
Good-bye. [_Exit Clara Deans.'] 

Miss T. — \_Soliliquizing. Taking up the letter.'] — Well, 
I shall write to her, that's all, and such a letter as will 
make her give up all intentions of coming here — that is, if 
she has any spirit at all. 

\_Exit. Curtain falls.] 

Scene 2 — Country sitting-room. Miss 'Jane Carlton sew- 
ing. Enter Miss Kate Carlton with letters and -papers in 
hand, 

Kate. — A letter for you, Jane, post-mark New York. 
Can it be possible Cousin Lizzie has received your letter 
and has answered it already. 

\_Jane opens the letter and reads aloud.] 



24 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

New York, October 24:th, 1858. 
Miss Carlton : — 

I received your note, disclosing your intention of visit- 
ing us shortly, and I thought I would write and inform 
you that it would be extremely obliging to us if you 
would defer your visit. We anticipate having a very 
large company here shortly, and as you are not familiar 
with other society than clodhoppers and country rusti- 
cality, it will be extremely mortifying to those so much 
your superiors to be incommoded with your presence at 
that particular time. I should feel sensitive about intro- 
ducing one ignorant of the customs and good breeding 
which pervade the society in which I move, and I hope 
you will feel grateful for my trying to save you from a 
mortification which, I trust, would have been as ofiensive 
to you as to me. If at some future time it will suit you 
to visit our city, we will endeavor ta welcome you with 
the best grace poss^ible. 

Yours, &c., 

Lizzie Twist. 

[^Silence for a few moments.'] 

Kate. — Well, Jane, what do you think of it ? 

Jane. — Think of it, Kate ? such a letter, and from our 
own cousin too ; it must be impossible ! 

Kate. — But it is possible, though, and that letter proves 
chat it is. What will you do ? 

Jane. — What will I do ? Why, quietly answer it, of 
course. 

Kate. — Quietly answer it, indeed ! I should ansY\^er it 
with a vengeance. 

Jane.— ^If she has done wrong, would it be right for 
me to follow her example ? I ought rather to thank her 
—nay, I do thank her for saving me from the mortifi- 
cation of going where I should not have been made wel- 
come. 

Kate. — Then you will not go ? 

Jane. — Go I why, Kate, did you for one moment sup- '- 
pose I would go after having received such a letter as 
that ? 

Kate. — Then I shall go. They do not know either of 
us, for we were at school last summer when Aunt Kuth 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 2d 

and her sister, Matilda, witii tlieir five or six great romp- 
ing boys, were here for three or four weeks, slashing and 
destroying every thing before them. We were plenty good 
enough then. I suppose they saved paying their board 
while the}^ rusticated here, and then aunt made mother 
promise we should visit them this winter ; — this looks as 
if they wanted us. Well, I shall go, if you don't ; that's 
©1)1 

Jane, — Kate, have you taken leave of your senses ? 
Kate. — No, indeed; they never were brighter in my 
life. Do you know the contempt breathed in that lettei 
has done a deal to sharpen them ? I shall let Miss Lizzie 
Twist know whom she despises. She will know what a 
Yankee girl is made of before I am there very long. 

Jane. — Kate, do act rational. Dear sister, do not go ; 
only think of going where you are not wanted. Why, I 
am ashamed you should for one moment think of going 
where they would despise you. 

Kate. — Ah, Jane, that is it — she would feel sensitive 
in introducing you ; if she don't have her feelings moved 
a little beyond the sensitive point when I make my ap- 
pearance, I'll not. give much for my woman's wit. 

Jane. — Kate Carlton, you shall not go ! I will show 
this letter to father, and I know you will not go contrary 
to his command. 

Kate. — He must not see it ; only think of mother : she 
was so glad to see her brother last summer, and is so 
anxious that we should in turn visit them. 

Jane. — Yes ; but not as you intend going. No, no, 
Kate, you must not go. 

Kate. — I will ; my mind is made up, and all you can 
say will not change it ; so you can say that you have 
changed yours and do not want to go. It will cause no 
surprise, for you are such a homelady at best ; just say 
I may go in your place; so now come, I shall need your 
assistance. 

Jane. — My assistance — and pray for what ? 

Kate. — To help me prepare for my intended visit to 
New York. 

Jane. — Why, you have the same as I was going to 
take ; what else will you need ? 

Kate. — Why, some dresses of real common gay cotton 

B 



26 EXCELSIOK DIALOGUES 

print, the very ugliest we can find. Then we must go to 
the attic and rummage over those great chests ; perhaps 
I can find something in them I shall need. There la 
grandma's wedding gown ; it has a short bodice and long 
train, embroidered off so handsomely; it will be the 
very thing for Cousin Lizzie's party. 

Jane Why, Kate, you surprise me. 

Kate. — I shall surprise you worse before I am ready. 
I must have some cheap artificial flowers and red ribbon 
for my hair. 

Jane. — Kate, my dear sister, you are not in earnest ? 

Kate. — Never was more so in my life. I intend to be 
as near what Miss Elizabeth Twist supposes I am as I 
possibly can. We must select the oldest-fashioned bon- 
net we can find in the attic, and if there is no feather in 
it, we'll rob the old turkey for feathers. I'll have to be 
in the fashion. 

Jane. — But you will wear your new velvet cloak and 
bonnet, will you not ? 

Kate. — I shall take them, of course. I intend to make 
a visit to Professor Allen's first. I shall lead Jennie into 
the secret. Won't she enjoy the joke? I expect her 
father has wealth enough to buy and keep Uncle Twist, 
and Jennie never puts on such airs. I wonder how much 
better the society is in which Miss Twist moves. Won't 
I surprise her, though ? 

Jane. — Yes, Kate ; it will be a sufficient punishment 
for her to meet you with Miss Jennie Allen, without making 
yourself ridiculous. 

Kate. — Not for me; I feel too utterly indignant to let 
her off so easily; just let me step into her parlor when 
it is full of aristocratic society, won't I Cousin Betty her 
up? [_Kate rising.'] Come, I am anxious to commence 
preparation. Isn't there an old short cloth cloak about 
somewhere, mother used to wear when she was young ? 

Jane. — You surely don't mean to take that. 

Kate. — Indeed I do. Won't I cut a spread going down 
Inroad way with my fashionable cousin ? ^Flirting across 
the stage.] 

Jane. — You will never act thus, dear Kate ; think how 
disgraceful — 

Kate. — I will do nothinor dis^jraceful ; but I will let 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 2'i 

Miss Twist know whom she despises. I will teach her a 
lesson she will not easily forget ; but come, come, 1 
must make my preparations before father and mother 
come home. I can be all ready against Thursday, and 
mind, you must not give the true reason for changing 
your mind. 

Jane. — Indeed, Kate, I cannot willingly consent to 
your going thus. 

Kate. — You may as well, for I shall go ; so come help 
me to prepare. 

Scene 3. — City drawing-room. Miss Twtst at home. Enter 

Miss Deans, 

Miss Twist. [^Bushing to meet her.'\ — Come at last. I 
have been looking for you for an hour, and had begun to 
fear you were going to play me false. Will 3'ou lay aside 
your hat and coat here, or go to my dressing-room ? 

Miss Deans.— Oh, I will lay them off here. I am so 
tired — the morning was so fine I did not order the car 
riage. I thought I would walk, but I found it plenty far 
enough. 

Miss T. — Do take this rocking-chair, and make your- 
self comfortable. \_Miss T. touches a hell — maid enters.'} 
Here, Hetty, take this coat and hat to my dressing-room. 

Hetty. — Yes, miss. [Exit Hetty.'] 

Miss T. — I am so glad 3^ou are here. I was so fearful 
you would disappoint me to-day. 

Miss D. — Indeed, I denied myself two or three excur- 
sions of pleasure for the sake of spending the day with 
you. Cousin Frank wanted me to go on an excursion up 
the Hudson, and Harry Walton wanted me to ride out 
into the country ; but I told them both that I was posi- 
tively engaged to 3^ou for the da}^ 

Miss T. — Oh, Clara, I am so anxious to hear what your 
dress is to be for the party ^ 3^0 u have selected it, of 
course. 

Miss D. — Yes, indeed. Oh, it's a perfect love ! sky- 
blue silk, trimmed with white lace. Harry Walton says 
I look divinely beautiful iv. blue. By the way, have you 
written to your cousm ? 1^ she coming ? 
6mm* 



ZO EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Miss T. — Yes ; I have written, and such a letter as will 
insure me no intrusion from that quarter. 

Miss D. — Oh, Lizzie, ma3^be she is very lady -like. Only 
think how it will insult and grieve her. 

Miss T. — Lady-like, indeed ! Who ever heard of an 
old rnsty farmer having a lady -like daughter ? I'm not 
going to give m^^self any uneasiness about it ; but I must 
tell you what m}^ dress is to be ; you do not ask. 

Miss D. — I am almost dying to hear, notwithstanding 
Something very brilliant, I expect, as this is your first 
party 

Miss T. — No, not brilliant ; plain white silk, without 
jewel or ornament save a white rose-bud in my hair. Ma 
says perfect simplicity will be most becoming. I wonder 
how Count D'Estange will like it. 

Miss D. — Oh, he will like it, no doubt. I understand 
he is perfectly enchanted with you. I should not be 
surprised if he made you a Countess one of these days. 

Miss T. — How you do talk, Clara ; take care what you 
put into my head, [^starling up and looking surprised. ] 
Mercy on me, what is a stage-coach stopping at our door 
for ? And did you ever see such an object as is alighting? 
Look, only look at her bonnet I 

Miss D — And just see the bandbox and bundles -it 
must be your cousin. 

Miss T. — She is coming up to our door ! Heavens help 
me, Clara, what shall I do */ \_Sinking on a chair, covering 
her face with her hands. Enter Kate, who rushes up to 
Clara, flinging her arms around hei — exclaims very loud,'] 

Kate. — Lor, Cousin Bets, how glad I he's to see yer I 

Miss D. \_Pushing her away.] — I am not your cousin. 

Kate [^Turning to Lizzie^. — You must be my cousin, 
then, for that feller out there sed you were in here. 
[Lizzie turns- away.] 

Kate. — Wal, this is a puty way to welcum yer cosin, 
what's cum so far ter see yer. Haint yer goin' to ax me 
to take off m}'' fixins' ? [ TaPces off her bonnet and seats 
herself.] I expected you'd have hull lots of manners, 
bein' brot up in town. Good glory, I wish ^^er'd say 
sumthin'. 

Miss T. [^aside.] — Oh, Clara, what will I do, what wili 
I do? 



ESCELSIOll DIALOGUES. 29 

Mtss D Indeed, dear Lizzie, I cannot advise yon. 

Kate. — Goody, do yer call her Lizzie ? Why her dad 
Bed last summer she was called after granmarm, and 
everybody calls her old Betty Twist. Now I look at yer, 
you look' a site like granmarm. 

Miss T. [aside. ^ — Oh, this is horrible. 

Kate [drawing her chair near Lizzie and taking hold 
of her dress']. — My golly, I guess you think yourself 
tarnation grand, to wear silk frocks every day. Why, 
dad thought he was doin' it when he bot this striped 
thing ; but then it is plenty good enough. Some folks 
likes to spend all they have on fine harness ; goodness 
knows that's not the way with dad ; he's got lots of 
money— five hundred dollars, I'll bet, clear grit, above old 
Dobbin and Browny ; plagaey good cow Browny is too, 
makes four pounds of butter when she has good pasture. 
Cousin Betty, does j^er know how to milk? Marm said 
she reckoned you'd cum out next summer to our place, 
so I'll larn yer ef yer don't know. \_A pause.] Now, If 
these 'er winder curtains don't look real harnsome. I 
was right down sartain tliey was real silk. Does yer 
daddy weave this kind of stuft' in his factor}^ now-a-days ? 
He used to weave bed tickin' and kalerko in that old 
factory by our creek. I've hern marm talk about it many 
a time. [Looking around.] Jimminy, but you've got 
grandified up since you cum to town to live. These here 
cheers and that settee thing must hev cost a sight of 
mone3^ 

Miss D. — How ignorant you are — that's a sofa. 

Kate. — Oh — a — sofy, is it ? Wal, I hev herd of them 
thing afore, but I forgot ; but I'm not so tarnal ignorant, 
for if yer had been at our house, I wouldn't told 3'er that 
if yer hadn't knowed more than a two year old heifer. 

Miss T. — Oh, Clara, I shall die; such language will 
kill me, and only think what an object for a party. 

Kate. — Goll3'opolis, are you gorn to hev a party ? 
Wal, I got gooder clothes than these along. I have one 
frock what used to be granmarm 's. I tell you it is awful 
slick ; it has a great long train embroidered off harnsomly, 
and I knowed them kind of things are fashionable now-a- 
days, and marm said I might as well bring it along and 



30 BXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

war it if you took me to meetin' or anywars. [^Kate goes 
to her boxes.] 

Miss T. [aside.] — What in the world will I do, Clara? 
She will expect me to take her everywhere. I know I 
shall die. 

Miss J). — I do wonder if she received your letter. 

Miss T. — If she did she has not sense enough to ap- 
preciate it. I hate to say any thing to her, or 1 would ask 
ber about it. 

[Kate, after putting on a huge apron, returns to her seat 
with a large stocking, partly finished, with her knitting-bag 
on her arm.] 

Kate. — Don't you gals work any, down here in New 
York, Cousin Betty ? Grolly, if a feller comes in up our 
way and ketches a gal doin' nothin', he puty soon ses 
she's lazy. I reckon you hev hull lots of beaux, Cousin 
Betty 

Miss T. — Do not call me that horrid name. I sincerely 
hope there will none come while j^ou are here. 

Kate [priming up]. — Oh, dear ; I expect yer afeard 
they will fall in love with me ; but j^er needn't worry ; I 
hev hull lots of them up to hum. I wouldn't give Jack 
Jinkins for a hull cart-load of j^er pussj^-lip'd dandies. 

Miss D. [looking through the window.] — Is that Count 
D'Estange crossing the street ? 

Miss T. — God forbid that he should come here now I 

Kate [rushing forward]. — Count De — who? — Lawsyl 
I do v*ish he would come in. Which is he ? do tell, so I 
can see a real Count. Is that him cumin' up to the door? 
Good}^, haint I glad I Now you must introduce me, gals, 
so I can brag about it when I go home. 

[Miss T. [spi-inging forward, gathers up bonnet, cloak, 
boxes, &c., exclaims] — Do let me show you to your room, 
so you can dress for dinner. 

Kate [hastily snatching a box from her hand, at the 
same time exclaiming] — Dress, indeed! Dress? wal 1 
gess there will no one kech me dressing. I ken fix up a 
little 'afore this glass — it's plenty big enough. [Fixes a 
large headdress of red ribbon and artificial flowers on h jr 
head, seats herself and is busy knitting. The Count enters 
one side of the stage as Miss T, comes forward from the 
other.] 



EXCELSIOK DIALOGUES. 81 

Count [drawling tone^ Good-morning, ladies ; wen 

pleasant mawning. 'Pon honor, I hope you are well. 
\ .Raising his glasses, surveys Kate.'] 

Kate [^aside, to Clara]. — What a pity he's near- 
sighted. 

Count. — When did the last packet arrive from Dublin ? 
' judge this is some of its freight. 

Kate. — Wal, I guess there's about as much Irish about 
;ie as there is French about you. 

Count. — Why, you liavenH much of the brogue. Where 
ai e you from ? 

Kate. — What a Yankee question! Wal, I guess I 
he's from of Yarraount. I'm Betty Twist's own first 
cousin, [iniaking motions to the girls;] but I see she's not 
gorn to intro'duce me, so I'll make yer acquainted with 
Catharine Carlton, Mr. Count DeLet's-hang — or what's 
your name ? There's nothin' like bein' able to introduce 
one's ownself. 

Miss T. [_aside.] — Is it possible? Catharine Carlton? 
Why, Clara, it was Jane who wrote the letter ; there is 
something wrong somev/here — it is strange. 

Miss D. — Yes, it is. Look at her hands ; they are as 
small and white as ours. 

Count. — Miss Twist, it cannot be possible that you are 
related to this uncouth — 

Kate [interimpting him]. — I'll let you know who's 
who. Didn't I see you turn red and green and all other 
colors when I sed ould Yarmount. Maybe you know 
sumtin' about Yankee land. I reckon yQV thought that 
har over yer face kivered up Bob Jones ; but I know'd it 
was you the minute I sot me two eyes on yer. 

Count. — Indeed you are mistaken; you have never 
seen me before. 

Kate. — Never seed you 'afore 1 never seed Bob Jones, 
the butcher 1 Wal, I never seed 3^er in sich good harness, 
that's sartin. I guess sellin' hide and taller has got to 
be good business. Where hev yer bin' bobbing round 
for sich a spell ? 

Count. — I came here to chat with these leddies, and 
not to be questioned by a raw Yankee girl. 

Kate. — Wall, I reckon yer wouldn't want to be ques- 
tion 'd by a cooked one. 



32 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Miss T.— You have quite disgusted me, Miss, and in- 
sulted my friends, and now you must be still ov leave the 
room. 

Kate. — Hum — me — my tongue's my own, and I reckon 
I can use it. Good gracious, somebody must talk, and 
you don't have much to say. 

Miss T. — Do please have some manners. 

Kate [very loud^- — Hev som manners I he's me sister's 
husband. [Lower tone.'] I'de a tarnal site sooner hev' 
his brother Jake ; he's the goodest lookin'. Bob, I reckon 
you remember Sumner Manner and Jake? Wall, Sum 
and sister Sal got married last winter, and we had a hul 
lot of good things — it makes my mouth water yit when 
I think of it. 

Miss T. — Well, we care nothing about your weddings — 
I made no reference to beaux — I wish you would have a 
little manners. 

Miss D. [hastily.'] — Do not talk to her; it only makes 
her worse. 

Miss T. — I do not know what to do. I wish Pa would 
come in. It is so unfortunate Ma is in Philadelphia this 
week — if she was only here. 

Count. — Do not give ^^^ourselves any uneasiness, ladies ; 
for m}^ part I am quite amused. 

Kate. — Harkee, these gals ! you must look sharp or I 
shall jocky you out of your Frenchman. 

Miss T. — Do not talk so ! Indeed, you humble me to 
the very dust. What will my friends think ? 

Kate. — I reckon I don't hurt you any, if your 
friends really like you. My talking will not prevent 
them — 

Count. — For my part I am continually contrasting 
3'our ladylike actions with her vulgar ways. 

Kate. — And did you ever contrast my manners with 
Judy Brown, our kitchen gal, when you used to come to 
spark her on Sunday nights I Poor Judy I she thought a 
sight of you, if she did give you the mitten. It went 
pesky hard with her when you left and nobody 'node for 
where. 

Miss D. [aMde.] Can it be that what she is saying is 
true ? Does he not appear greatly confused ? 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 8S 

Miss T. — Yes, indeed ; and Pa said he looked more 
like a Green Mountain Yankee than a French Count. 

Kate. — There, gals, you needn't be whispering — it's 
not good maniiers to whisper in company. I can larn 
them a little if I am from old Yarmount. Say now, Bob, 
be honest : wouldn't you like to see Judy ? 

Count. — Is it possible that you are 'Squire Carlton's 
daughter ? If so, five years has made a wonderful change, 
or you, Kate Carlton, for some reason, are in disguise. 

Kate. — And if I am, though it may not become me as 
well as yours does you, I can wear it with mbl-e ease. 

Miss T. — Oh, please do not listen to her I 

Count. — Will you believe me that what she says is 
true! I am, indeed, no other than Bob Jones. Miss 
Carlton referred to the time I left so suddenly. I went 
to California, where, being successful, I soon amassed a 
large fortune. Returning home by way of this city, and 
wishing to figure a while in high life, found I could best 
do so by assuming a title. But the name of Judy Brown 
has awakened old memories, and I must see that warm- 
hearted girl again. Miss Carlton, will you inform me why 
you are here in this uncouth garb ? 

Miss T. [hastily to Kate.'] — You at least are what you 
seem? 

Kate. — Yes, I am a real Yankee girl, I can tell you, 
and no French Countess. I am sorry. Miss Twist, you 
have been deceived in those moving under an aristo- 
cratic title — in the first circle of society. In time you 
will learn not to take every thing for gold that glitters. 

Miss D. — There is not much glitter about you. 

Kate. — I may have the ring of true metal, notwith- 
standing. [Turning to the Count.] You asked me why I 
am here m this uncouth garb. Though I had not intended 
to make the disclosure so early. Miss Twist has already 
discovered through you that I'm other than I seem. I 
am here through invitation from Mr. Twist, (my mother's 
brother,) but in this attire through a feeling of indig- 
nation provoked by the tone of a letter penned by Miss 
Twist to my sister. 

Miss T. — Will 3^ou not forgive me ? I sincerely repent 
having written it. Let my ignorance of country people 
be mj^ excuse. 

b2 3 _ 



84: EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Count. — Yes, since a country butcher has had the 
power to palm himself off as a French Count, you must not 
trust too far to your own judgment. Smce you have dis- 
covered my true character, I suppose I shall be no longer 
welcome. I will return to those who will prize me for my 
true worth and not for my wealth. Thank Miss Carlton 
for her timely disclosure, because, had it not been made, 
it might have been that you would have one day found 
j^ourself not a French Countess, but the wife of a country 
meat-vender. For the future take this advice : do not 
expect always to find truth in titles, or happiness in wealth, 
for titles are but a hollow sound, and wealth is easily 
squandered. I will bid you good-morning, [^moving to- 
wards the door.^ 

Kate. — I'll see you agin one of these days when you 
come to spark Judy. 

Miss D. — I have this day learned a lesson not to be 
forgotten. 

Miss T. — If I had never taken your advice, Clara, and 
not have written that letter. 

Kate. — Do not lament for what cannot be altered. 
Indeed, I think it happened for the best. Had Jane come 
as she intended, and you should have received her un- 
kindly she would have immediately returned and this 
would have ended all intercourse between our families. I 
must frankly say that I believe it is your education and 
not the heart that is wrong, or you could not have 
borne so patiently my rude behavior this morning. 

Miss T. — You are right in referring to my false educa- 
tion. I have been taught to consider country people 
ignorant and rude ; in reality, I knew nothing about them. 

Kate. — I believe you, and if you will visit us some 
time we will try to convince jou, though we live among 
the Green Mountains, we are not barbarians. So now, if 
you will send for my fixins I will follow the Count's ex- 
ample. Though I had nerve enough to wear them here, 
I do not know how I shall ever appear in the street 
again in such a garb. 

Miss T. — You shall not do it. You must not talk of 
leaving us ; if you do I shall not feel as if I was forgiven 

Kate. — I cannot remain, for I have made arrangements 
to visit Professor Allen's before I return home. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. OO 

Miss D, [^surprised.^ — Is it possible you are acquainted 
there ? 

Kate. — Oli^ yes ; his daughter Jennie and I are very 
intimate. 

Miss T. [^aside to Clara.'] — Oh Clara, Ma has been so 
anxious to secure Allen's presence at our party. [To 
Kate."] Oh cousin, I can never forgive myself for writing 
that letter. JSTo wonder it oflended you. What can I do 
to convince you that I am heartily penitent ? 

Kate. — By never referring to it. But will you bring 
or send for my bonnet ? I will return to the hotel where 
I have left my trunks. 

Miss T. — You cannot go. I will send the servant for 
your trunks, but not a single step shall you go from here. 
I was the means of your wearing those clothes here, and 
you must not appear in the street again with them on. 

Kate. — I do feel as if I hadn't the courage, but if Jennie 
Allen knew I was here she would not forgive me. 

Miss T. — For my sake tell her nothing about it ; but 
you must have your trunk, so I will not stand talking. I 
do not want Papa to see you in this garb. [ Turning tc go.] 

Kate. — Well, if I remain, please show me to my room, 
for I do not wish to meet other visitors in this garb. 

Miss T. — Certainly ; come. Excuse me, Clara. \_Exit 
Kate and Miss T.] 

[Clara Deans takes up a hook. Enter 3Iiss Twist.] 

Miss D. — Can it be possible that the lady who just left 
this room, can be the same who entered it scarcely an 
hour ago ? 

Miss T. — And my cousin too I What must she think of 
me treating her as I did ? 

Miss D. — You could not have acted otherwise ; her man- 
ners were so rude. She must have been very indignant 
about that letter. 

Miss T. — And no wonder ; the very recollection of it 
makes my cheek burn with sliame. 

Miss D. — And Lizzie, only think of the Count turning 
out to be only a country butcher I Isn't it awful I What 
will our set think, I wonder? 

Miss T. — We must never let it be known ; we have this 
to console us : there are others who will be disappointed 
in him. 



36 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Miss D. — That is very true, and then lad you married 
him, Lizzie, and- 

Miss T. [^sharply.'] — That I would have never done ; 
do you know there was always something disagreeable 
about him to me ? 

Miss D. — And to me ; I could never endure him. 

Miss T. — Now, Clara, j^ou forget you once said to me 
you thought him perfectly splendid. 

Miss D. — Did I ? well that must have been when he 
was new — but isn't it splendid to think your cousin is in- 
timate with Jennie Allen ? 

Miss T. — Yes, indeed, I am so glad ; we shall secure her 
attendance at our party. 

Miss D. — Oh, Lizzie, I forgot to tell you, Papa gave me 
a new set of pearls j^esterday. They were selected from 
a new case at Preston's. There was but one other set like 
them, and they would be very becoming worn with your 
white dress. 

Miss T. — I must have them then ; but here comes Papa. 
I must talk to him about them. [Aside.'] Don't say any 
thing to him about this morning. 

llJnfer Mr. Twist Salutes Miss Z>.] 

Miss T. — Oh, Papa, Clara has just been telling me that 
her Pa has given her a new set of pearls for my party. 
There is only one more set like them. You will get them 
for me, won't you ? 

Mr. T. — Ah, ha I that party's getting talked over. How 
many hundred have you voted out of my purse to supply 
demands ? Will one thousand or fifteen hundred be suffi- 
cient ? I expect you two will charter Cupid's bow for 
your own individual use. No doubt the poor fellows' hearts 
will be terribly shattered. 

Miss T. — Pshaw, Papa, you said I should have two 
thousand if I needed that much ; but say, that's a good 
Papa, shall I have the pearls ? 

Mr. T — Well, well, we'll see; but did that Yankee 
Count give you a call this morning ? I met him down the 
street looking very forlorn and wo-begone. I supposed 
some lady had sent him off in disgrace. How is it, have 
you given his Royal Highness an invitation to your party ? 

Miss T. — No, indeed, I have not. Oh, Papa 1 you 
couldn't guess who is here ? 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 37 

Mr. T. [looking around.^ — Queen Victoria ? Lady 
Adelaide ? Emperor Napoleon and his bride ? 

Miss T. — Oh I papa I 

Mr. T. — Well, you told me I couldn't guess. Who is it ? 

Miss T. — Cousin Kate Carlton. 

Mr. T. — Indeed, I am really glad ; she is quite lady-like, 
I hope. Did she come directly here when she arrived in 
the city ? Where is she now ? 

Miss T. — Yes — no — I believe so ; she is dressing for 
linner. I will go see if she is ready to come down. 
[J^xit Miss T.'] 

Mr. T. — Did I understand that Count D'Estange was 
here this morning ? 

Miss D. — He was here. I believe he is going to leave 
the city. 

Mr. T. — I am glad of it ; he is some New England ad- 
venturer. A wooden peg manufacturer, or something of 
the kind. 

Miss D. — Or a Lowell factory man. I heard Miss 
Carlton say that you once resided in New England. 

Mr, T. — Hem — m — m, yes, but it has been many years 
ago ; I have not much recollection of the place. While 
on a visit to Washington last winter I was introduced to 
a Mr. Carlton, a representative from Vermont, and was 
surprised on discovering him to be the husband of my 
sister, whom I had not heard from for many years ; but 
here comes his daughter. 

\_E liter Miss T. and Kate in full dinner-dress.^ 

Mr. T. — I am very happ}^ to welcome my sister's daugh- 
ter to New York, and I hope we shall be able to make her 
visit a pleasant one. 

Kate. — Thank you. 

Mr. T. — I suppose you have never visited the city 
before. 

Kate — Oh, yes ; I spent a year in the vicinity of New 
York at school. 

Mr. T. — Indeed, and we never knew it I When did you 
arrive in the city ? 

Kate. —I arrived in the midnight train. 

Mr. T. — Why did you not inform us of your arrival, or 
intention of visiting us, so we could have met you at the 
station ? You should have come here directly. 



88 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Kate.— How should I know that you would recognize 
me? Besides, I had other reasons. 

Miss T. — And only think, papa, I could not at first 
realize that she was my cousin. It seems so strange that 
our family should have remained strangers so long, and 
she visits at Professor Allen's. 

Mr. T. — Indeed I ha I there's the dinner-bell ; that's 
what I wanted to hear. After we have dinner I suppose 
we will have to drive round and look at those pearls. 

Miss T. — Oh 1 thank you, papa. Then we can tak 
Cousin Kate sight-seeing. 

[ Jir. T. offers his arm to Kate.'] 

Kate [/o 3Iiss T.] — Had I better wear grandmarm'i 
wedding-gound ? 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 6 

RUNNING FOR CONGRESS. 

CHARACTERS. 

Peleg Pippin, Independent candidate for Congress. 

Mark Doolittle, Pippin's confidential agent. 

Mr. Bull, of the free trade league. 

Mr. Selfish, a protective tariff man. 

Mr. Root, an advocate of manhood suffrage. 

Mr. Hidebound, conservative. 

Mr. Carpenter, workingmen's union. 

Mr. Balloon, for inflation of currency. 

Mr. Bullion, a hard-money man. 

Mr. Sumptuary, for prohibitory liquor law. 

Mr. Fogy, conservative. 

Gen. Blatherskite, A. I. R. 

Herr Gambrinus, free lager. 

Mrs. Strongbow, female suffrage advocate. 

Citizens and Loafers. 



Scene I. — Public House — Sitting-Room, 

Doolittle — "Well, there is but one thing to be done. 
We did our best, you very well know, to secure the regular 
nomination for you. All that money could do was done ; 
and at one stage I would have bet a hundred to one that 
the game was in our own hands. So it would have been, 
if that knave of a Riley hadn't played double and sold 
us out. Never mind, old fellow, we haven't played our 
hands out yet. [^Shouts outside — "Three cheers for Pip- 
pin — hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!''^'] Do you hear that? 
I tell you the boys are with you, every one of them I I 
never saw so mad a crowd in my life as they were when 
they found that Sappy was nominated. They would have 
strung him up along with Riley, if the precious pair 

(39) 



46 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

hadn't taken pains to show a clean pair of heels each ol 
them. You're bound to win yet, if you follow my advice. 
It is high time this wholesale cheating at primary elec- 
tions and nominating conventions was stopped, or it will 
ruin our party or any other. The only way to break the 
slate is to run an independent ticket. Now is as good a 
time as we will ever have to pitch in, and you're just the 
man to lead off. Don't mince matters one whit. You've 
been cheated outrageously. Say the word and we'll make 
an open fight, and no favors asked of Sappy or anybody 
else. Just hark to the boys I [^Shouts as before.'] We'll 
organize an independent meeting right on the spot — 
nominate you at once — ^you give the boys a talk — and the 
ball is opened. Do that — manage the campaign as I tell 
you — and I'll stake my head you'll whip Sappy two to 
one. Come, my boy \_dapping him on the hack heartily'], 
is it a go ? 

Pippin. — You really think I can beat him, Mark ? 

DooLiTTLE. — Not a shadow of doubt of it. Just wait 
till we let the crowd in, and you'll see whether you're 
popular or not. You go into the parlor, and I'll start 
the meeting here, and get everj^ thing in ship-shape for 
you. \_Going.'] 

Pippin. — Wait a bit, Mark ; what will the thing cost ? 
I'm willing to risk a fair amount ; but we've sunk con- 
foundedly already, you know, and have got nothing, or 
next to nothing, to show "^or it. 

DooLTTTLE. — This time I'll attend to the disbursements 
myself. I won't let a penny go till I know where it lands. 
We can figure up after the nomination. Don't let a thou- 
sand or two stand in your way. We'll invest now to save 
what we've already got in. Face the music, and we'L 
bring Sappy to his bearings before we are through with 
it. [Shouts outside.] Leave now, and I'll set the machine 
going. Think over your speech quick — give it to them 
right and left — don't be mealy-mouthed. War to the 
knife, remember I 

Pippin. — I'm in for it, then, Mark. You ought to 
know the ground. You are sure I can win ? 

DooLiTTLE. — I know it. Hurry up. [Uxit Pippin.] 
There — he's fixed — and if he don't get well plucked by 
the time the race is over, then set Mark Doolittle down 



EXOELSIOE DIALOGUES. 41 

for the biggest fool afloat. ^Shouts.'] Those rascals 
mean to earn their money. How do I stand in pocket ? 
Pip gave me three thousand — Sappy fifteen hundred ; so 
much to the debit side. Paid Riley five hundred — the 
boys out there two hundred — little incidentals, a hundred 
more — balance, thirty-seven hundred. Not bad for the 
first heat, Mark, my son I Egad I I must make a cool 
five this go — and then Mark and I will be in training our- 
selves for the next nomination. Here goes for contract 
No. 2. Keep steady, my dear boys — drive with a tight 
rein I ^Opens the door — shouting increases.') Come in, 
boys 1 [Beckoning. Crowd enters in different stages of 
drunkenness.^ 

1st Citizen. — Hooray for Pippin — the poor man's 
fi'iend — hip-hip-hooray I 

2d Citizen. — Hooray for Pippin — the workingman's 
friend — hip-hip-hooray I 

3d Citizen. — Hooray for Pippin — everybody's friend — 
hip-hip-hooray I 

[ Vociferous shouting — general disorder."] 

Doolittle \_3Iounting a chair and interrupted during 
his speech by sJiouts for Pippin]. — Boys I you know how 
they cheated us I If an3^body in God's world deserved 
any nomination, Pel. Pippin deserved that one 1 He's 
been swindled out of it by a pack of thieving dirty 
blackguards ! Shall we put up with it ? [''No / no ! no .'"] 
Our party didn't make Sappy a candidate. [Groans for 
Sappy.] Our party wouldn't do such a contemptible 
trick I This thing's gone far enough, boj^s — it has got 
to be stopped — and we're just the bully boys to stop it I 

Irish Cit. — I nominate Misther Pippin as our indi- 
pindint candidate for Congress I 

German Cit. — I zegons dat I [Cries of *' Bully for 
you!^^ ''Go in, old hoy P^ d)C., &c.] 

Doolittle. — Those who are in favor of the Honorable 
Peleg Pippin as an independent candidate from this dis- 
trict for the next Congress will say aye. [Yells of 
*Aye /^^ ^'Ayel" cat-calls, shouts, &c.] Those opposed 
will say "No." 

Irish Cit. [brandishing stick.] — I'd break the spal- 
peen's head who'd dare say it I 

Doolittle. — It is a unanimous vote ; and the Honor- 



42 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

able Peleg Pippin is the independent candidate from tMs 
district for the next Congress I \_Cries of '' Where is 
heV ''Trot Mm outP^ '' Speech P^ '' Speech P' &c.'] Hold 
your horses, boys ; I'll have him here in a jiffy. \_Retires 
and reappears shortly, escorting Pippin, who is received 
with cheers and a tiger.^ 

Pippin [from the floor']. — Friends and fellow-citizens — 
Irish Cit. — On the table wid ye, my boy. Show the 
boys the light of your blessed face. 

Pippin \_moiinting table']. — Friends and fellow- citizens 
My friend, Mr. Doolittle, [" hooray for Doolittle .'"] has 
just informed me that you have unanimously nominated 
me — [_'' three cheers for Fijypin f^^] — nominated me as 
your independent candidate for Congress. Ail of you, I 
presume, are avfare of the manner in which I was swindled 
out of the regular nomination. [_Groans for Sappy.] If 
that nomination had been fairly made, I should have 
given Mr. Sappy my hearty support ; but as it is a piece 
of knavery and fraud — an outrage upon you, my fellow- 
citizens, as well as myself — I am not bound by it — I shall 
not support it. ["FbiiVe a brick!''''] I accept with 
pleasure the nomination you have conferred upon me — 
[" three cheers for Fijjpin .'"] — and will do my very best 
to succeed. I shall take off my coat, fellow-citizens, roll 
up my sleeves, and strike right and left at whoever and 
whatever stands in my way 1 [^" Go in, old PipP^] I 
ask no quarter of the scoundrels who have acted the part 
of villains towards me — towards us — and I'll give none ! 
[^"Hip-hijD-hip-hooray !^^] 1 depend upon you, my friends 
and fellow-citizens, for support. Whatever I may be able 
to do will come to but little if 3^ou do not rally round me. 
[" We will, old fellow — weHl back you!^^] Let us all do our 
duty in the contest upon which we have entered, and so 
sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, we 
shall win. Do not let it be said that scoundrelism can 
succeed among us ! Do not pay a premium for black- 
hearted treachery! Put your feet upon it in all your 
majesty and crush it out, never to raise its serpent-head 
again! [_"So we willP^ ''So we willP^] You know, my 
friends and fellow-citizens, my views on the political 
questions of the day — [" Yes, Yes .'" "Dry upl^^ "Dry up .'" 
"LeVs liquor P'] — and I am not afraid, either here or 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 43 

anywhere else, to speak them out and to defend them. 
So far as th *. great questions of the day — [symptoms of 
uneasiness in the crowd. Doolittle, sittiyig near Pippin, 
pulls his coat-tail^— 1 say so far as the great questions 
of the day are concerned, I shall be ready at all times to 
let any of my friends and fellow-citizens know where I 
stand. ['^ We know!" ^^YouWe all right /'^ "Hooray for 
PipP^ ''Hooray for the drinks I^^"] I shall be pleased to 
gee any delegations at any and all times who may wish 
to talk with me upon any subject at issue in this great 
contest — [Doolittle pulls his coat-tail'] — and my friend, 
Mr. Doolittle, who is authorized to act in my behalf, will 
arrange for all such interviews. Again thanking j^ou for 
your kindly interest in me, and hoping that victory may 
perch upon our banners, I bid you, friends and fellow- 
citizens, good-night. 

[Crowd breaks up noisily. "All hands aboard Jo'^ the 
bar .'" Cheers for Pippin and Doolittle, who remain in 
the room.'] 

Doolittle. — Didn't I tell you ? You see for yourself 
now — don't you ? But I was afraid you were going to 
put your foot in it when you began talking about the 
issues of the day — that's why I gave you the hint I did. 
You see, Pip, the fight will hinge on that. Sappy runs 
as the regular candidate, and will get a fair share of the 
party vote. We must draw off as many of our folks as 
we can — bag all of the opposition — and pick up what 
stragglers are lying round loose. 

Pippin. — That's true — but I want to show our men that 
Pm a better party man than Sappy. 

Doolittle. — All fudge I Leave yourself in my hands. 
Don't open your month in public if you can possibly 
dodge it. If 3''0u do, don't commit yourself to any thing 
— talk generalities. In private, to the different delega- 
tions, 3^ou may say what is necessary. Then you can be 
all things to all men. We must grind every axe that's 
brought to us. I can put things up so that there will be 
no leaking. Secure the vote of every delegation that 
comes to you, no matter for what, but only by word of 
mouth, mark ,you — don't you put pen to paper — don't 
you answer a letter — I'll attend to that for you. 

Pippin. — You're right, Mark ; you're right. I'm in 
6nn 



±4: EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

yonr hands, my boy, and I'm thankful I've so good a 
friend to manage for me. When we're out of the woods, 
Mark, won't there be some tall crowhig done? Make the 
money tell this time where there'll be no tripping up. I'll 
do the genteel thing in that line, you know, but don't 
squander it. How much do you say for a flyer ? [ Taking 
out pocket-book.'] 

DooLiTTLE. — I'll leave that with you— you won't be 
mean. 

Pippin [^counting and handing']. — Here are twenty-five 
hundred. Make it get us out if you can — but if more 
is needed, or any thing special turns up that we can't 
foresee, you know where to come for more. Get up the 
delegations to suit yourself, and if pledging myself will 
do the business, depend on me for that. Let's be going 
— I'm tired enough with the day's work. 

DooLiTTLE. — I'm agreed — let's take a drink and go. 
IJ^xeunt.] 



Scene II. — Room in Private House, 

Pippin [^seated at a table covered with letters, documents 
and papers]. — The work goes bravely on I Never man 
had a better friend than I have in Mark I It would kill 
me to go through what that fellow does every day. He 
must be iron-clad in and out. When I get my seat, about 
the first thing I'll do will be to bring in a bill to lengthen 
the term of service. It's asking altogether too much of 
us to go through this sort of thing every two }- ears. And 
as for the constituents calling their representatives to 
account every other year, we, who are behind the scenes, 
know that is all bosh. Heigho ! [yawning and stretching.] 
This is to be my hardest day — cartloads of delegations, 
expecting me to lie here and lie there, to swallow my own 
words, to eat humble-pie for them — faugh I I'll get rid 
of this somehow before I'm up for my second term — but 
now I must take the dose, whether I like it or not. I 
hear Mark's step. Good for the boy ! What should I do 
without him I [Doolittle eiiters.] On hand, my boy, as 
usual. This is the day of days. Sit down and let me 
understand the ropes before we push off. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 45 

DooLiTTLE. — Hang me if I'd any notion how many is- 
sues are involved in this campaign — and the fate of our 
dearly beloved country hanging on every one. Let me 
see \_thinkwg'], there must be a dozen or more. Some of 
them, though, you can hustle off in a hurry — tke nigger- 
voters, the she-voters, the liquor law men — they don't 
count much any way. But you must go through the 
motions with them — don't let them get mad, but say your 
"yes" in as few and as short words as you can. The 
bother I've had to get the time right for each, so there 
should be no clashing I I've come within an ace of 
botching it with some of the pig-headed fellows. Even 
yet I'm not entirely sure. However, I've stationed Tom 
Trusty at the corner — he knows all the delegations, having 
been around with me — to head them off, if there should 
be any blundering as to time. A pretty joke it would be 
to have them tumble in together so as to have a chance 
to compare notes I 

Pippin. — That must be guarded against to a dead cer- 
tainty. Every thing is going so swimmingly, there must 
be no blundering now. 

DooLiTTLE. — We're safe for that. Sappy is shaking in 
his shoes, you'd better believe. Do you know one of his 
men had the impudence to offer me to the tune of three 
thousand this morning to sell you out ? I knocked the 
cur down and left him. 

Pippin. — He's a bigger ass than I thought. It's about 
time for some of them, isn't it ? Draw on me for more 
money, Mark, if you need it. What did the Eenians cost 
yesterday ? 

DooLiTTLE. — A thousand. 

Pippin [counting and handing']. — Here are two. Take 
these letters with joii into the other room, and see what's 
to be done with them. What delegation comes first ? 

DooLTTTLE [looHng at memorandum book']. — Free Trade 
League is booked for ten — and, bless me, where has the 
morning run to ! — it's that now [looking at watch']. I'll 
take the letters, keep watch on the hall, and do the intro- 
ducing. But you must make it as short as you possibly 
can without harm. Remember we've but three days 
more — and think of the work that's to be done I [Goes 
out— puts his head immediatelj, inside the door.'] Number 



4:6 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

one of the series I \^Exit and returns.'] Mr. BuH, Mr. 
Pippin wishes a few moments talk with you on the ques- 
tion of Free Trade. [^Exit.'] 

Pippin.— Take a seat, Mr. Bull. 

Bull. — Thank you — but your time is too precious. 1 
have called, more as a matter of formality than because 
I have any doubt about you. Indeed, I don't know that 
I should have troubled you at all, if Mr. Sappy^s friends 
were not giving out that jow. had gone over to the high 
tariff men. I have called simply to have authority from 
3^ourself to pronounce the statement false. 

Pippin. — That you may, Mr. Bull, unquestionably and 
emphatically. I have been acting with the party too 
long for such an imputation to have any influence upon 
sensible men. 

Bull. — You have ; indeed, you have. But every thing 
gets abroad in a heated campaign — especially in a fight 
like this. 

Pippin. — When those who had been of our faith in 
Pennsylvania and New Jersey — and many of them lead- 
ing men too — went over to the enemy on the tariff ques- 
tion, everybody knows that I stood by the creed of the 
fathers. 

Bull. — So you did, Mr. Pippin — you did, sir— and I 
am certain that these calumnies will inure to your benefit. 
You will beat Sappy handsom.ely, I'm sure of it. I wish 
you success with all my heart \_shahing hands warmly'], 
and will trespass upon your time no farther. Good-morn- 
ing. \_Exit.] 

Pippin. — If this visit would but prove a specimen brick 
of the entire lot ! It's hoping against hope. 

DooLiTTLE [liead inside of door]. — " Short horse soon 
curried I" They know you on that, though ? [ Withdraws 
and enters.] Mr. Root, Mr. Pippin. Mr. Boot will ex- 
plain the object of his call [winking significantly. Exit]. 

Pippin. — A seat, Mr. Boot. 

Root. — Thank you, sir. [/S^Ys.] I have come this morn- 
ing, Mr. Pippin, by appointment, as a representative of 
the Manhood Suffrage League, to ascertain from you per- 
sonally, your position relative to the great question of 
the hour — a question, Mr. Pippin, which, in our judg- 
ment, towers above every other — a question which 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 47 

i^iprrN-. — You allude to extending the right of suffrage 
to negroes, I presume. 

KooT. — Yes, sir — to that vital question. I have here, 
sir [taking a roll of papers from his coaQ, the resolutions 
adopted by the National League at its last meeting, to- 
gether with the interrogatories alluded to in these reso- 
lutions, sir, which we propound to every candidate for 
office throughout the country. I will read them to you, 
sir. 

Pippin. — Pardon me, Mr. Root ; I will spare you that 
trouble. I understand the positiorf which your friends 
take upon that question, and I can say to you frankly 
and without reserve, that I am in favor of equal and 
impartial suffrage the world over — nay, more — that I 

DooLiTTLE [entering']. — Mr. Pipj^in, excuse the inter- 
ruption — but another delegation is waiting. 

Root. — I will leave the interrogatories with you, sir, 
and you can answer them at your leisure. 

Pippin. — Not the least occasion for that, Mr. Root. 
You know my sentiments now — and my time is so occu- 
pied that, really 

Root [rising]. — I will leave them, with your permis- 
sion. [Placing on table.] You may wish to peruse them 
before taking the seat in the Halls of Congress to which 
I am confident, after your manly avowal, you will be 
returned at the next election. Allow me to congratulate 
you, sir, upon the cheering prospect. [Shaking hands and 
exit.] 

Pippin. — Whew I 

DooLiTTLE [head inside]. — Look out fo'f squalls now I 
[Entering.] Mrs. Strongbow, Mr. Pippin. Mrs. Strong- 
bow wishes a few moments private conversation with 
you. I have stated to her the pressure upon your time, 
but have taken the liberty of claiming j^ou in her behalf 
for a sJwrt interview. [Exit, shaking his forefinger ai 
Pippin.] 

Pippin. — Am pleased to meet you, madam. Please be 
ceated. A beautiful morning we are having. 

Mrs. S. — Excellent weather. Pray, Mr. Pippin — you'll 
pardon the inquiry — but upon a nearer view of your feat- 
ures the resemblance is so striking — the expression par- 
ticularly — that I can't help thinking it possible — are you 



48 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

ot kin to the Pippins of Poppleton — Thomas Pippin, who 
married 

fippii^. — I believe I can lay claim to no kinship there, 
madam. 

Mrs. S. — I certainly never saw two faces more alike. 
I should have taken you, most assuredly, for a brother of 
Thomas — he married Araminta Hurd, you know — and 
when I resided in 

DooLiTTLE [^entering2. — A delegation waits outside, 
Mr. Pippin. 

Pippin. — Tell them I will be at their disposal in one 
moment. [Exit Doolittle.'] 

Mrs. S. — Excuse me, Mr. Pippin, for detaining you, 
but I couldn't rid myself of the impression that you must 
be of kin — an excellent family, Mr. Pippin — an excellent 
family. [Loud knocking at the outer door. DoolittWs 
voice heard outside. ''Have a moment's patience, gentle- 
men ; just a moment I"] 

Pippin. — My time is so taken up this morning, Mrs. 
Strongbow, that I am compelled to ask you to communi- 
cate to me the business upon which you have favored me 
with a call this morning. I regret exceedingly being so 
precipitate, but 

DooLiTTLE [entering with Hidebound S Co.] — Pardon 
me, madam, but I had stated to these gentlemen the exact 
number of minutes Mr. Pippin would be detained, and as 
they are obliged to take the next train, and their time is 
already much overrun 

Mrs. S. — I will call again, then, Mr. Pippin, when you 
are more at leisure. Or, if you are down our way and 
would drop in some day this week. We live at 

Pippin. — I actually shall have no time, madam. 

Mrs. S.- — Good-morning, then, Mr. Pippin — I will call 
again. [Uxit.^ 

DooLiTTLE. — Mr. Hidebound, Mr. Pippin — Mr. Bullion, 
Mr. Fogy. 

Pippin. — Give you good-morning, gentlemen. 

Hidebound. — A moment only for me, Mr. Pippin. I 
come at the request of the National Union Organization. 

Bullion. — The same time for myself, Mr. Pippin, acting 
as the representative of the advocates of a specie cur- 
rency. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 49 

Fogy. — I will detain you no longer, Mr Pippin, in be- 
half of your fellow-citizens who are opposed to any fur- 
ther extension of our territory, for the present, at least. 

Pippin. — You see how I am crowded, gentlemen ; but, 
hurried as I am, I am glad that I have time enough to 
assure you that I am in favor of restoring the Constitu- 
tion as it was — of bringing the currency back to a specie 
basis — and unalterably opposed to annexing another 
square inch of territory — for this generation, at least. 

Fogy. — Here is my hand, sir, which on election-day will 
deposit a ballot for you. lUxte7iding.2 

Hidebound.— And mine, sir ; [<io.] for a return to the 
good old times. 

Bullion. — And mine, likewise, for a stable system of 
finance. Be under no concern as to your election, sir. 
You will be returned. 

Fogy — Hidebound. — That you will, sir — that you will. 

^Exeunt.'] 
\^ Shrill female voice heard out of doors.'] 

DoOLiTTLE [head inside'], — Madam Strongbow is har- 
anguiug a crowd outside. I'll speak to No. 20t to ask 
her to move on. [Exit.] 

Pippin. — Poor Mr. Strongbow — if such there be I 

DooLiTTLE [entering]. — Mr. Selfish, Mr. Pippin. 

[Exit.] 

Selfish. — I just dropped in to give you a hearty shake 
of the hand, sir. [Doing so.] Sappy is making votes for 
you on all sides — yes, sir, when he thinks he is harming 
you the most. It is true, then, is it, what he says, that 
you are with us on the tariff question ? 

Pippin. — I am sorry to be forced to speak disparagingly 
of an opponent even — but it is the only trulih I have heard 
of his circulating. 

Selfish. — We tariff men will stand by you, sir. You 
Bhall be in Washington, sir — depend upon that. It is 
high time the manufacturing interest had a representa- 
tive there from this section. Good-morning, sir. [Exit.] 

DooLiTTLE [entering], — General Blatherskite, of the 
Army of the Irish Republic, Mr. Pippin. I have handed 
the General five hundred as your contribution to the cause. 

Gen. B. — And the sons of the green isle will soon show 
the world that the valor of their sires is not forgotten. 



50 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

After your liberal contribution, Mr. Pippin, I need not, 
as Head Centre, have any doubt as to your co-operation 
with us, as a free and independent American legislator ? 

Pippin. — !N"one whatever, General 1 I am with you, 
heart and soul. 

Gen. B. — Every Fenian vote in the district is yours. 
I will have a chat with you next winter, at Washington. 
I shall room at Willard's. Good-morning. [^jExit.'] 

DooLiTTLE \_entering'\. — Mr. Carpenter, Mr. Pippin — ■ 
concerning the labor movement. \_Exit.'] 

Pippin. — Be seated, if you please, Mr. Carpenter. 

Balloon \_entering'\.- — I just ran in a minute, Pip, to ask 
you if that article in the '' Speculators' Gazette" of this 
morning, signed ''P. P.," favoring an expansion of the 
currency commensurate with the wants of the business 
community, is not yours ? I am sure I can't be mis- 
taken. 

Pippin. — You are not. It is mine. Do you like it? 

Balloon. — Like it ! I'll have five thousand copies of 
it struck off and distributed through the district. It will 
elect you, man, by an overwhelming majority. 

Pippin. — Talk with Doolittle about that, will you — ' 
don't interfere with his plans. 

Balloon. — We'll settle it between us. Gad I It is a 
regular clincher. \_Exit.'] 

Pippin. — Mr. Carpenter, give me your hand 1 It affords 
me hearty pleasure to shake a toil-browned hand. If it is 
ever in my power to help along the workingman, you 
may rest assured that I shall spare no effort in his behalf. 
I think you don't go far enough. For myself, I am in 
favor of dividing the day into four parts : six hours each, 
for work, for study, for sleep, and for recreation. But, if 
we can get no more, we will put up with a National Eight 
Hour Law, till we can do better. 

Carpenter. — Every Workingman's Union shall know 
of this by to-morrow night — and we'll get up a procession 
of workingmen to escort you to your seat in Congress. 

lExif] 

Gambrinus \_entering, somewhat unsteady']. — Herr Pepin, 
ish you for freedom and free lager — or ish you not ? 

Pippin. — I am down upon all liquor laws — now and all 
the time. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 61 

Gambrinus. — Den, mein Gott, I votes for you, Hen 
Pepin — and so does all of us. [Exit.^ 

DooLiTTLE [_entering']. — Mr. Sumptuary, Mr. Pippin — 
prohibitory liquor law. [JExit.'] 

Sumptuary. — I hope, Mr. Pippin, that the individual I 
just met does not represent your feelings on the impor- 
tant question of temperance ? 

Pippin. — Far from it, Mr. Sumptuary. I am in favor 
of a national prohibitory liquor law of the most stringent 
kind. The excise law of New York is too much of a con- 
cession to the rum interest to meet my approval. 

Sumptuary. — Give me your hand, sir. [Shaking.^ I 
am rejoiced. Your position has been sadly misrepre- 
sented ; but I will see that you are placed right before 
the temperance men of your district. When once in Con- 
gress, I trust that you will banish liquor from the entire 
city consecrated by the name of Washington. 

Pippin, — I will strive earnestly to that end. 

Sumptuary. — Good-morning, sir. \_Uxit.2 

Pippin. — Good-morning. 

Doolittle [entering']. — That is the last, thank fortune ! 
A good morning's work done ! Madam Strongbow has 
been denied admission twice since she left, but she man- 
aged to stick some of her she-voting tracts under the 
door. Now, for dinner, and then for that drive. 

Pippin. — With all my heart. I wish this business were 
off my hands. 

Doolittle [going out with Pipjnn']. — We'll make up for 
it when we get to Willard's. [Exeunt.'] 

Scene III. — Room in a Private House, 

Pippin. — What can keep Mark away this morning ! He 
was to have been around bright and early with the fall 
returns of the election. When we left late last night he 
assured me — and so did everybody I met — that I was a 
long way ahead. I hope nothing has gone amiss. I wish 
fce would come. Why are not the papers here ? 

Balloon [entering]. — I congratulate you, Pip. I knew 
you would beat them all hollow ! That article did the 
business ! I told you it would ! [Shaking hands heartily.] 

Pippin. — Have you seen the returns yet ? 
6nn* 



52 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Balloon. — To be sure. Haven't you? Here^s the 
" Gazette" — read for yourself. \_Handing paper.'] 

Pippin [reading']. — 'Trom the thiid district our returns 
are somewhat indefinite ; but as Pippin (independent) is 
reported to have 3,008 votes out of a registered list of 
but 5,01t, we think there can be no doubt of his having 
beaten Sappy (regular) by a very handsome majority." 
[Returning paper.] It does look like it, I confess. 

Balloon. — I should think it did — very much like it — 
and I am delighted. [Enter Bullion, Bull, Selfish, Root, 
Hidebound, Sumptuary and Gambrinus.] We will have 
one man now in Congress who has both the disposition 
and the nerve to force an expansion of our currency. 

Bullion. — What do I hear ? I was coming forward to 
congratulate you [to Pippin] on your election, believing 
you, from what you yourself have told me, determined 
to use your influence to place the currency upon a specie 
basis. Am I to understand that you didn't mean what 
you said ? 

Pippin [embarrassed], — I will explain every thing, Mr 
Bullion, at the proper time, to your entire satisfaction. 

Bull [advancing]. — Free trade adds another champion 
to the almost solid phalanx of the mighty West 1 I con- 
gratulate you with all my heart. [Shaking hands.] 

Selfish. — Mr. Pippin, can you listen to such remarks 
without rushing to an indignant denial ? You who author- 
ized me to declare you an out-and-out high protective 
tariff man I What does this mean ? 

Pippin. — Another time, gentlemen — another time we'll 
talk it over quietly. 

Root [advancing]. — It affords me pleasure [extending 
hand] to grasp the hand of an honest manhood-suffrage 
member of Congress elect. 

Hidebound [looking amazed] — Mr. Pippin, is that the 
fact ? Do you call such action restoring the Constitution 
as it was ? How are the great National Union Party, to 
whom you have pledged ^^ourself over and over again, to 
regard such conduct on your part ? Sir, answer me that. 

Pippin. — You must not worry me, gentlemen. I say 
again we will talk all these matters over at some mor6 
fitting time. 

[Bull and Selfish, Balloon and Bullion, Root and Hide- 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 53 

bound, withdraw aside in couples, and engage in earnest 
conversation, casting glances from time to time at Pippin.'] 
Gambrinus. — Shust so soon mine frau tells me Herr 
Pippin is in cle Gongress, I brings round von goot — two 
— dree goot kegs of bock beer — and dey ish on de drey 
shust at de door — [pointing^ — hoorah 1 We puts dose 
Yankee pfarren down I [^Grasping hands.'] 
Sumptuary. — I am disgusted, Mr. Pippin, with your 

duplicity 

Pippin. — Hear me a moment, Mr. Sumptuary — 
Sumptuary, — I'll have no more words with you, air. 
[Flinging himself out. Newsboy cries outside, " 'Ere's 
four Extra Gazette — full election returns — only five 
42ents I" Sumptuary opening the door, throws an extra to 
Pippin.] Double-dealing — you'll see, sir — doesn't always 
/Succeed even with a politician. \_Exit.] 
• Pippin \_reads]. — Was anything ever like it? I see 
through it, I think. Mark Dooliftle— I'll find him, if I 
have to search the State, and bring him to an account — 
knaves, tricksters, cheats, scoundrels all I \_PiUshes out, 
leaving paper behind.] 

Root [reading]. — So — so ! Well — I never — 
All. — What ? What ? What ? [crowding around him.] 
Root [reads]. — " We are now in possession of complete 
returns from the third district, which in our regular morn- 
ing issue we conceded to Pippin, (Independent.) By 
some trickery not j^et understood, but which we shall 
assuredly ferret out, a cipher was surreptitiously inserted 
in the figures indicating Pippin's vote, which is 308, in- 
stead of 3,008. Full returns give Sappy (regular) 4,212, 
a majority of 3,904 over his competitor. If any money 
has changed hands upon the strength of the statement in 
our regular edition, we trust that those involved will be 
honorable enough to rectify. We assure the public that 
none can regret this petty piece of knavery more than 
we." 

[Various exclamations of surprise — all leaving except 
Balloon.] 

Balloon. — Poor Pip I Somebody has Jewed him. He 
thought he was running for Congress, poor fellow. 308 
votes out of a poll of 4,520 I Why he didn't even get 
ap to a respectable walk J [Curtain falls.] 



THE WIZARD OF VALLEY FORGE. 

CHARACTERS. 

Gen. Washington. Chas. Moreland, 

Gen. Lafayette. Husband to Charlotte. 

Wizard, who also assumes Capt. Danvers, 

the character of Mr. Husband to Nora. 

Mandeville. Irishman. 

Officer. Scotchman. 

Lieutenant. Physician. 

Mr. Summers. Madam Vandore, a Tory. 

Mrs. SumtvIers. Gen. Reed. 

Charlotte Summers, Colored Servant. 

Nora Summers, Capt. Morton. 

Mary Summers, Soldiers and others. 

Daughters of Mr. S. 



Scene I. — In a Forest, 

Lafayette. — Think no more of the matter, for T assure 
you, General, that Congress has seen its error in listening 
to the machinations of those envious men. 

Washington. — I have never noticed my personal ene- 
mies, for I have enough to do to contend with the enemies 
of my country. 

Laf. — You have triumphed over the one, and God 
grant that you may yet triumph over the other. It is 
rumored that your count r3aiien now in Paris — Benjamin 
Franklin, Silas Deane, and Arthur Lee — have negotiated 
a treaty with France, and if so, which God grant it may 
be, you may bid defiance to the lion of England. 

Wash. — God grant it may be so, for we are surrounded 
by dangers on every side, not the least of which are the 
foes who are in our very midst, yet who profess to be our 
friends. Nothing but the mighty arm of God can lead us 
to victory. \^Both silent, Washington with eyes uplifted, 
as in prayer^ Yes, I am satisfied the power alone of 
Him who spoke the universe into existence can give a 

64 



EXCELSIOR BIALOG-UES. 55 

Imndfal of men in distress the victory over the legions of 
England, fresh from the well-foiight fields of Europe, and 
to Him alone I shall look for strength to put down our 
enemies. If God is with us the treaty with France has 
been made, and we shall triumph. 

Wizard \_sitting heliind a tree unobserved, and speaking 
in a deep voice']. — We shall triumph. 

Wash. \_dr awing his sword.] — Are you a friend or 
foe ? Speak. 

Wiz. [^after a sJiort pause.] — You have nothing to fear 
from me. You have seen me ere this, and you will no 
doubt see me again ere the war is ended. 

Laf. [pistol in hand.] — Your manner, as well as your 
meaning, is mysterious. 

Wiz. — Put up your weapons, gentlemen, for I again 
assure you that you have nothing to fear, but much to 
hope from me. I know you both, though I am unknown 
to you, and must remain so, for my history is beyond 
your reach ; seek not I beseech you to know me any fur- 
ther, that I may voluntarily be of service to you. 

Wash, \_approaching the Wizard.] — Who are you, and 
from whence ? 

Wiz. — You do not know who I am and never can, as I 
told you before. My present habitation, like your own, 
is in the dark forest of Valley Forge ! Yet, mean as I 
may appear to yow, I have moved amid the mightiest men, 
and shone in the princely palaces and courts of Europe ; 
have trod the halls of grandeur and gayety, and am not 
unknown in the temples of learning. But pardon me : I 
can say no more, save to assure you that no coward blood 
runs in my veins, and that I am not what I seem. 

'Wash. — We are satisfied that j-ou are not what you 
seem ; and we would fain know your history and render 
you any assistance in our power, but as you have forbid- 
den any further inquiry, we will not intrude. 

Wiz. [^politely.] — As to assistance, I need it not; but 
I expect to assist you and your nation in rending 
asunder the chains that have so long rattled on your 
arms, and hi hurling to the earth the galling yoke that 
has so long bowed you to the dust. All I ask is to have 
free access to your person, and XDcrmission to enter and 
leave the camp, when and at what time I please. 



56 EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 

Wash, [^scrutinizingly.'] — But we must have confi* 
dence 

Wiz. — Ah I when you know me longer, you will like 
me better — that is, if you will always know me, for I am 
like Proteus ; I assume many shapes. Would you know 
whether I am an American at heart, look at that. \_Hands 
him a copy of an oath never to rest until the country shall 
be free from England.'] 

\_Enter Lieutenant and Officer."] 

Officer [^o Lieutenant]. — His Excellency, the Com- 
mander-in-Chief, and General Lafayette, in conversation 
with the strangest and most mysterious being I have ever 
seen ! 

Wash. — Lieutenant, do you know this man ? 

Lieut. — As much I presume. Your Excellency, as any 
one does, for he is the most singular and deceptive being 
I have ever met. 

Wiz. [^haughtily, and draiving himself up to his full 
height.] — Did I ever deceive you ? 

Lieut. — You misunderstand me. I only meant that it 
was hard to comprehend you. Why, gentlemen, at the 
taking of Burgoyne he fought like a tiger ; was at one 
time down on the field with a stalwart Hessian over him 
in the act of giving him his death-warrant, when he sud- 
denly drew a pistol and seut a ball to the heart of his an- 
tagonist. At another time I saw him battling single- 
handed with three Englishmen, when I went to his assist- 
ance. I have met him on several occasions, but had lie 
not made himself known, I should never have recognized 
him as the same being. He is here, there, and every- 
where. 

Wash, \turning to Lafayette.] — He may be of service 
to us. 

Laf. — Right ; especially in secret expeditions. 

Wiz. — You will find in me a friend, though you may 
not at all times recognize me as such. 

Wash, \_earnestly.] — Then I will see that your wish 
shall be gratified. You shall at all times have free access 
to the camp, and m}^ person. To have fought against 
Burgoyne is sufficient recommendation, and entitles you 
to my regard. 

Wiz. — I ask no further favors. What services T ma\ 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 57 

render will be as much to gratify my own revenge, as to 
])enefit jou and your country. Seek not to know who I 
am, as your curiosity would be gratified at the cost of my 
services. Be not surprised at any disguise I may assume, 
or at any situation in which I may be placed, but be 
assured of my fidelity. Be my disguise still impenetrable, 
my name unknown. Should T ask any assistance, render 
it, without seeking to know the why or wherefore. This 
is all I have to ask and you to grant, and if I do not ren- 
der you service, it will be because it is beyond my power. 
If I prove recreant to my vow, may the lightnings of 
Heaven 

Wash. — Enough. [Grasping his hand.'] I bid 3^ou 
farewell. I hope we shall meet again, to our mutual 
benefit. 

Wiz. — I hope so. But of present and future interviews 
let nothing be said. [Curtain falls.'] 



Scene II. — In Mr. Summers^ Parlor. Mr. and Mrs. 5., 
Charlotte^ and Charles Moreland^ her intended. 

Charlotte. — Thank God ! thank God ! that you, Charles, 
have at last been prevailed on to abandon the unrighteous 
cause of the rebels, and return to your allegiance to your 
lawful sovereign. Never could I have accepted your hand 
on any other terms. 

[ Cliarles hangs his head.] 

Mr. S. — Cheer up, my boy : you are not only entitled 
to the hand of my daughter, but to the thanks of all loyal 
and well-disposed people. 

Mrs. S. — Ay, and you will receive a higher commission 
in the British than you held in the rebel army. Here 
is Mr. Mandeville, just arrived from England, and with 
whom we became acquainted by accident, who can inform 
you of the brilliant offers made to all who will relinquish 
the rebel cause. 

[ C/iarZes looks at 3Ir. M. and starts.] 

Charles [aside]. — Surely I have seen that face before 

Mr. S. — As you have just arrived from England, Mi 
Mandeville, you cannot conceive with what desperation 
these rebels fight. Who could have believed that General 
c2 



58 EXCELSIOR DIALOG-ITES. 

Burgo^yne and his whole army would have been taken h} 
a shirtless, shoeless and half-starved set of ploughmen. 

Mandeville. — Though I am an Englishman, I should 
say they were the very men to accomplish such a triumph ; 
for what may men not accomplish who will endure such 
privations, and who are fighting for their own homes, 
their firesides, their wives, and children, to say nothing 
of the freedom of their posterity. 

Mr. S. — They cannot stand the contest long. And 
though I was born an American, I ardently hope to see 
the day when Washington will fall into the hands of the 
British, who have already offered large rewards for him. 

Mand. — That will be a difficult matter to accomplish. 
He is too good a soldier and too wary a man. 

Mr. S. [smiling.'] — Why, Mr. Mandeville, did I not 
stand before an Englishman, I should take you to be a 
rebel. 

Mand. — Bebel, or not, sir, I would gladly know the 
manner in which that hero could be entrapped. 

Mr. S. — Would you hesitate at being concerned in 
taking him ? I have a scheme on foot. 

Mand. — Not a moment ! Nothing would give me 
greater pleasure than to know your plan and to hold a 
villain up to the execration of mankind. 

Mr. S. — Come this way, my dear Mandeville. 
[Both retire.'] 

Mrs. S. — Well Charles, have you told Sir Henry Clin- 
ton all about thptt Frenchman's situation at Barren Hill ? 
[Charles drops his head in his hands and weeps.] 

Mrs. S. — Fie, Charles, for shame! Do you weep that 
you have obtained the fair hand that you so ardently 
sought, or that you have done your duty by returning to 
your allegiance to your lawful sovereign. Neither of 
these should be a cause of grief. Cheer up, for you'll yet 
have cause to rejoice that you have done your duty. 

Charles [sor7^owfully]. — I have a presentiment of evil. 
As I was walking alone I encountered a strange-looking 
being, who represented himself as a soothsayer or fortune- 
teller, and certainly no man, if man he was, ever more 
thoroughly embodied my ideas of what a wizard should 
be, than did he. I threw him a piece of silver and humor- 
ously asked him to tell my fortune. My blood even no^ 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 59 

runs cold at the recollection of his solemn manner and 
the expression of his face as he foretold my destin}?-. 

Mrs. S. and Charlotte [^laughing']. — And what was it? 

Charles. — Ah! I laughed myself when he commenced, 
but he seemed so earnest and so emphatic, that though I 
have never believed in supernatural revelations, a cold 
chill crept over me, and I shuddered. 

Charlotte [^playfully imitating the melancholy manner 
of Charles]. — But what was it, Charlie? 

Charles. — I shudder to think of it. He foretold that 
I should meet the doom of a traitor to my country and 
that those by whose influence I was actuated would 

Mrs. S. — My dear child, what is the matter ? You are 
pale and trembling ! 

Charles. — I cannot go on, for the bare recollection of 
the man and his manner freezes my very soul. 

Charlotte. — Well, well, these notions will pass away 
when you are a great officer in the King's army. 
\_Enter Mr. S. and Mr. If.] 

Mr. S. — What is the matter ? 

Charlotte. — Oh, nothing I only Charlie has been fright- 
ened at the goblin story of a wizard. 

Mr. Mand. \_apparently musing.'] — The wizard ! Right I 
1 have seen this same wizard of the forest, and never were 
the predictions of a prophet more certainly verified. If 
he forebodes you good or evil you may rely upon its fulfil- 
ment, for I am told he is deeply skilled in astrology, 
and reads events in the stars as others do in books. 
[_Gharles starts.] Well, we must part for the present. 

Mr. S. [^advancing and talcing Mandeville by the hand.] — 
And may we meet again to the fulfilment of our wishes 
and the triumph of the King. 

Mrs. S. — And may we all triumph as well as the cause 
of the good King George, in spite of the wizard. 

Charlotte Iwith a loud laugh]. — Amen 1 
l^Exit Mandeville.] 

Mr. S. — You seem dejected, Charles I 

Charles. — I know not what to do. 

Mrs. S. — Can yoii hesitate a moment, when fame, for- 
tune, friends, and a beautiful bride await you ? 

Charles. — I am fearful that dereliction from duty wil] 
bring ruin on us all. In the perplexity of my mind 1 



60 EXCELSIOR Dialogues. 

know not wliat to do. To delay even will be fatal. Maj' 
God direct me what to do for the best. 

Mr. S. — Poh ! poh ! Charles, give not away to foolish 
fear ! What harm can reach you when under British pro- 
tection ? 

Mrs. S. — Indeed you pay but a poor compliment to 
Charlotte, whose heart and hand you protested you 
prized above all price, and now you hesitate in doing 
that which is plainly your duty to do. You hesitate in 
laying down the arms you had raised in rebellion against 
your lawful King, and in returning to your duty, when 
honor, wealth, friends, and the hand of her you profess 
to adore, are to be your reward. 

Charles [taking his hat and leaving']. — Well, I'll think 
of it further. \_Exit Charles.'] 

Mr. S. — Oh, what a fearful fellow I He starts at his 
own shadow. But we shall bring him to the sacrifice of 
his darling hobby and mushroom reputation. We'll rob 
the rebels of one brave fellow at all events, and Nora 
shall be made to repent her bargain and her rebel notions 
before a great while. 

Mrs. S. — Yes, her ragamuffin husband, like the rest 
of the rebel officers, has scarcely enough to eat and cover 
his own nakedness, without having a wife depending on 
him. 

Charlotte. — You'll see her sneaking home before long. 

Mr. S. — She need not come here. Let her find friends 
among those whose cause she has espoused. She has no 
reason to expect sympathy from us. 

Mrs. S. — Right ! If she had not been told beforehand 
what she had to expect, I would not be so severe ; but 
when I remonstrated with her respecting her marrying 
that Captain Danvers, she had the impudence to stand up 
for the rebel cause. But she'll repent her rash runaway 
adventure, as sure as I'm a dutiful subject of the good 
King George. 

Mr. S. — Ay, how willingly will she sneak back to the 
family when George Washington shall be delivered into 
the hands of the Britis-h genei'al, and the upstart rebels 
shall have been put down, as they ought to be. If we suc- 
ceed in the undertaking, as I expect to do, we shall be 
immortalized in history and celebrated throughout the 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 61 

world. Wealth will be showered upon us, and I expect 
nothing else but that we shall be among the nobility. 

Mrs. S. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! But wont that be a glorious 
triumph ! We can then look down upon those who now 
hate us because we do not favor the rebel cause. 

Charlotte. — Oh, happy, happy day ! How I should 
like to move among the nobility and be styled her Grace 
and her Ladyship ! 

Mrs. S. — Oh, j'-es ! Wont it sound grand to be styled 
his Grace the Duke of Summers, and the Duchess of 
Summers, or Lord and Lady Summers. 

Charlotte. — And the Marquis and Marchioness of 
Moreland I Wont that sound delightfully grand? Oh ! it 
makes my heart leap with pleasure to think of it. 

Mr. S. [^putting his fingers on his lips.^ — You must 
remember that all this glory depends upon your keeping 
it a profound secret. The truth is, I never should have 
confided it to women ; for it has been discovered by pro- 
found naturalists what the cause is that a woman cannot 
keep a secret. 

Mrs. S. and C. — And what is it ? 

Mr. S. — Why it has been discovered that Eve, the 
mother of all mankind, instead of being made out of one 
of Adam's ribs, was manufactured out of the greater part 
of his tongue. 

Charlotte. — How in the name of sense can that pre- 
vent her from keeping a secret ? 

Mr. S. — Because she has an irresistible propensity to 
talk, and she must and will talk. Nothing gives her 
greater pleasure than to have something to tell. 

Mrs. S. [_with dignified courtesy.'] — You have a very 
contemptible opinion of our sex, my Lord Summers. 

Mr. S. — Nothi'Dg more than the sex deserves. 

Charlotte. — It shows the generous, confiding, social 
disposition of woman. If she enjoys any thing, she is will- 
ing to share it with her neighbor, unlike the selfish dis- 
position of man. She wishes others to know what she 
knows, to feel what she feels, and to enjoy what she enjoys. 

Mr. S. — Yes, and if the revelation would hang a dozen 
men, she could not resist the pleasure of telling what she 
hears. But I hope you will take heed and be silent. Our 
mtention is not known but to ourselves and Mr. Mande- 



62 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

ville. Should it be revealed, it would bring eternal ruin 
on us all. 

Mrs. S. — It will never go from us. 
\^AU rise to leave.'] 

Charlotte. — No, never. ^Curtain falls.] 

Scene III. 

Lafayette \_soliloquizi71g']. — Strange, that man, with 
all his reason and all his capabilities of appreciating and 
enjoying the beautiful in nature, should mar it by the 
horrors of war! Strange, that one portion of mankind 
cannot, or will not, suffer another portion to enjoy life and 
liberty without bloodshed to obtain the privilege ! Here 
is a beautiful country, a perfect Eden, where peace and 
plenty alone should dwell, but, owing to the selfish nature 
and vile passions of man, it is turned into a slaughter- 
house, where, instead of the hum of peaceful industry and 
the music of nature, the roar of cannon is heard, and in- 
stead of the husbandman returning to his happ}^ home, to 
be cheered by the smiles of his wife and children, he re- 
turns to see midnight glitter with the blaze of his burn 
ing cottage, and the bleeding bodies of his children 
butchered by the hands of the Indian, or no less sav- 
age white man. Strange, indeed, are our notions of 
murder: if one man kill another in time of peace, he is 
execrated as a foul murderer ; while he who butchers by 
wholesale is immortalized on the pages of history as a 
great man — when at the same time, too, he butchers those 
who are struggling for their rights and privileges which 
God has decreed to the whole human race. When will 
men learn to live in peace ! 

Wiz. \_enters, dressed as an old woman with ^taff and 
hasJcet.'] — Good-morning, General I I am happy to meet 
you again, and alone too. 

Laf. [sci^utiniziwjly.] — I know not that we have met 
before. 

Wiz. — It matters not, General, as respects that. I 
have come to ascertain something more important. 

Laf. — And pray what may that be ? 

Wiz. — I come to know whether you are ready to meet 
the enemy 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 63 

Laf. — What enemy, madam, do you mean ? 

Wiz. — I mean your enemy in Philadelphia, the British, 
sir. 

Laf. — There is no prospect of an attack from that 
quarter at present. 

Wiz, — You are mistaken. 

Laf, — In what manner? 

Wiz. — Has not an officer deserted from your command ? 

Laf. — He has— Charles Moreland. 

Wiz. — The same, sir, and he has communicated to the 
British general some particulars which I expect will in- 
duce an attack. I come therefore to warn you to be in 
readiness to receive them. 

Laf. — I thank you for the intelligence. [Offers he? 
some pieces of silver.^ 

Wiz. — Nay, sir, I ask and can receive no reward. 

Laf. [_viewing her in wonder. 2 — Did you say we had 
met before ? 

Wiz. — Ay ! At Valley Forge in the forest. 

Laf. — Good heavens ! can it be possible that you arc 
the same unknown that Washington and myself met in 
the woods ? 

Wiz. — The same, General. By my disguise as a for- 
tune-teller I am enabled to wander where I could not 
otherwise go, and to obtain knowledge that I could not 
otherwise acquire. 

Laf. — I should never have recognized you. [Taking 
him by the hand.'] You must be some extraordinary being. 

Wiz. — To my art in disguising myself I am indebted 
for my safety, for I have been in the presence of, and 
conversed with those, who, had they known me, would 
have rejoiced to sacrifice me. 

Laf. — May God protect you. 

Wiz. [grasping his hand.'] — Farewell! and remember 
to say nothing of our interview, or of my disguise. I 
should not have made myself known had I not wished to 
impress it upon your mind that there is danger of an 
attack. 

Laf. — You may rely upon m}^ secrecy. Farewell I 
[ Curtain falls.J 



64 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



Scene IV. — In a Hospital. Captain Danvers lying suffer* 
ingfrom his wounds. Nora watching by his side. Irish- 
man and Scotchman wounded lying on the floor, 

\_Enter Doctor.'] 

Nora. — Oh I Doctor, tell me candidly, is there any 
hope? 

Doctor. — He may recover, but at present the chances 
are against him. He has lost so much blood that the 
energies of nature are destroyed. 

Nora. — Tell me in one word, must he die ? 

Doctor. — He will die in less than three days. 
\_Nora bursts into a paroxysm of grief .] 

Danvers. — Do not weep, Nora. This is the fate of 
war, and if I die, I die nobly in the cause of my country. 

Doctor.- — I thought he was delirious. Dry up your 
tears ; a change has taken place, and he will recover. 

Nora [clasping her hands in an attitude of prayer]. — 
Heaven be praised ! Then I shall have one friend remain- 
ing this side the grave. 

Doctor. — I will call soon again. 
\_Exit Doctor.] 

Irishman. — Och! noo, an' it's a mighty great blessin' 
till hev a lovin' wife till sit by ye the day an rade and be 
spakin' the word o' comfort whin ye hev a British ball in 
yer body. Och ! but it's meself that 'ud be after heven 
that same meself. 

Scotchman. — Hoot, mon, awa', ye winna think sic a 
thing as to hae the puir guid lassie yousel. I wadna 
think o' sic a thing, Tarn. 

Irishman. — Hoot, mon, yersel, ye don't understand my 
maning at all, at all. I didn't be afther sayin' I'd hev the 
lady meself. I intended till mane that I'd be afther heven 
one jist like herself. There's a might}^ great difference 
betwaine the two, though they're jist alike. 

Scotchman. — True, I dinna ken the meaning o't, but I 
spake out, an' a guid advisement comes nae ill. I dinna 
care at all, for I never felt the luver's joy, but I maun 
think the guid dame has nae love to spare ye. 

Irishman. — Och, ye spalpeen ! The back of me hand 
till ye, an' sure I never meant till mane that I'd begrudge 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES, 65 

another man's wife, an' it's meself 'ud say ye'er a foolish 
felly, ye are. 

Scotchman. — Gae mind yer business, Tarn. I'd make 
ye tak that back, but I hae twa wounds already. 

Irishman [taking a crutch in his hand and shaking at 
the Scotchman']. — I'll fight ye wid a shelalah on the flure ; 
and ye don't hold yer tongue, I'll put me foot in yer face. 
[ They try to strike each other lying on the floor, and make 
quite a disturbance.'] 

\_Enter Officer.] 

Officer. — Hold here ! What's the matter ? Order at 
once, or I'll have you both marched off to the guard- 
house. 

[ Curtain falls.] 

Scene V. — A Party at Mr. Summers^ house. 

Madam Yandore. — What do you think, General, of the 
cause of freedom ? Can it succeed, think you ? 

Gen. Reed. — As sure as there's a God in heaven. 

Madam Y. \looking the General in the face.] — I hope 
it may ; but I have my fears. Indeed, I have had several 
fearful omens, in dreams and otherwise, that make me 
tremble for the result ; and I have heard that the Wizard, 
who roams the forest and who is so deeply skilled in 
astrology, has foretold the speedy fall of our high- built 
hopes. 

Gen. R. [bluffly.] — I neither put faith in dreams nor 
astrology ; and if all the wizards in Christendom were to 
tell me so, I would not believe them. 

Madam Y. [seemingly having paid no attention.] — Oh, 
it will be a sad affair and an awful reckoning with the 
Americans — better had thej^ never been born than to have 
taken up arms against the Mother Country. I tremble 
when I think of the awful consequences. 

Gen. R. [jocularly. ] — It will only be the present of a 
hemp collar or cravat, and we shall not be the first who 
have been elevated for having loved liberty. 

Madam Y. — Ah, General; but think of the anguish 
that such a catastrophe would carry to the bosoms of 
mourning mothers, weeping wives, and fatherless chil- 
dren, to say nothing of the odium, the deep disgrace that— ^ 



66 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Gen. R. [^ivarmly.'] — "No, madam ! you should call it 
glory I I sliould consider it glory to hang for the sacred 
cause of liberty ; and as to mourning mothers, wives, 
and orphans, they must take the fate that awaits them, 
as we shall. 

Madam Y. \^silent and baffled.'] — If we should fail, it 
will be awful indeed. We have disregarded the repeated 
admonitions of the Mother Country to desist, and if we 
are forced to lay down the weapons of war, which I re- 
ligiously believe will be the case, death and distraction 
will fill the land The cry of mourning will be in every 
habitation, and it will cost the lives of most of our great, 
talented and distinguished men. 

Gen. R. — And what would you do, madam, in such a 
case ? 

Madam Y. — Why, sir, if I were an American general, 
I would lay down my arms and accept not only mercy, 
but brilliant reward. 

Gen. R. [interrupting.'] — God of Heavens ! and would 
you turn traitor to your country, to your home, to your 
God ? Then indeed would that American general deserve 
hanging. 

Madam Y. — Had you rather suffer ignominious death, 
and send sorrow to every bosom in which your blood 
runs, than to return peacefully to your allegiance, blessed 
with wealth, honor 

Gen. R. — But what surety is there of that? What 
surety, madam, has a general of reward who should agree 
to assist in bringing the colonies into subjection? 

Madam Y. [heightening.] — Why, sir, he has the solemn 
assurance of the British government that if he forsake 
the rebel cause, and assist in putting down the rebels, he 
will be rewarded not only with showers of gold, but with 
honors and a title. 

Gen. R. [affecting a serious air.] — That is very tempt- 
ing. 

Madam Y. — General Reed, I am empowered to make 
you a confidential ofler, if you will seriously listen to it, 
and the terms will lift you above the frowns of the world. 

Gen. R. — I am anxious, madam, to know it. 

Madam Y. [delighted.] — It is this: if you renounce 
the fallacious cause of freedom, and do all in your power 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 67 

to put down the rebels, your immediate reward will be 
teu thousand pounds, and any office in the colonies within 
the King's gift. 

Gen. R. [ear)ies%.] — It is folly, madam, to trifle any 
longer. I am not worth purchasing, but such as I am, 
the King of England is not rich enough to buy me. 

Servant [m livery^ — An 'omen in de yard, massa, 
what want to speak to you. 

Mr. and Mrs. S. \^at once.^ — Who is she? 

Ser. — Can't tell dat, massa, for she's a cryin' so dat de 
poor gal can't speak. She lias on an ole bonnet and 
linse3^-woolsey frock, an' hardly hab no shoes on de feet. 

Mrs. S. [^sourly.'] — Can it be IS'ora who has come here 
to pestei us at such a time as this ? 

Ser. — 'Taint Miss Nora, don't think, massa ; howsumd- 
ever I see. 

i\fRS. S. [tn an undertone to servant.'] — Tell the good-for- 
nothing trollop to clear out. She has no business here at 
such a time, be she who she may, [Exit negro.] 

Servant [outside']. — Miss, you must lebe de place. 

Nora. — Oh, God ! oh, God! can I not then see my parents, 
whom I have ever loved so dearly, and whose injunctions 
I have never transgressed but once? 

Servant. — Dar den, I gib you tree cents ; go away now ; 
de great folks am not to be 'sturbed. 

[NoEA sobs loudly.] 

[Mr. and Mrs. Summers both go to the door.] 

Mrs. S — What do you want here, girl, that j^ou are 
j^elling like a screech-owl ? 

Nora. — Oh, my dear mother, do you not know your 
poor Nora ? 

Mr. S. — We do not wish to know you. But what brings 
you here at such an unsea.sonable time ? 

Nora. — Oh, my dear father, pardon me for the intru- 
sion ; nothing but necessity, the keenest pangs of 

Mrs. S. [frowning] — Oh ! ho ! You'd better go to your 
rebel friends for assistance, as none but an upstart rebel 
captain could satisfy you for a husband. I said j^ou'd be 
sneaking home when pierced with want, and now, Madam 
Trollop, you'd better be off, or Mingo shall take you oti'. 

[Nora looks imploringly at her father.] 

Mr. S. — You have come to the wrong place to beg. 



68 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Had you not meanly stolen off with tliat ragamuffin cap- 
tain of yours, you need not have been a beggar. 

Nora. — But, dear parents, I have never transgressed 
but once, and then 

Mrs. S. [haughtily.'] — That was enough ; you'd better 
be moving, for we've nothing to give beggars, and we will 
not support rebels and their brats. 

Nora. — For mercy's sake forgive an unhappy daughter, 
if you will not listen to her tale of woe. 

Mrs. S. — We have no time for either ; j^ou should have 
thought of that before you eloped with 3^our pretty jewel 
of a rebel captain. Not a cent of ours shall go to minis- 
ter comfort to him if he dies, and you need not expect it. 

Mr. S. — To cut the matter short, you must leave here 
immediately. I will not have our respectable friends in- 
terrupted in their enjojmient by such characters as you 
are. [ Takes Nora by the arm to lead her away ; she utters 
a piercing shriek and clings to his arm.'] Take her away, 
Mingo. [Guests 7msh to the door.] 

First Guest. — Who is she? 

Second Guest. — What is the matter with her ? 

Mrs. S. — Oh, she's nothing but a beggar woman, who 
is in the habit of pestering us at such times as this. 

Nora [led away by Mingo]. — Oh, forgive me, my father 
and my mother I 

Mr. S. — Poor thing, she's somev/hat deranged, and 
imagines we are her parents. 

Mrs. S. — Yes, poor creature, I pity her. In her crazy 
moments she's so troublesome that we have to drive her 
away, although it makes my heart ache to do so. 
[ Curtain falls.] 

Scene VI. — Washington in his tent engaged in devotion, 

[Enter Attendant.] 
Attendant. — General, there is an old man in the 
camp who wishes to see 3^ou. 
Wash. — Let him enter. 

[Enter Wizard.] 
Wiz. — Well, General, we have met again, as I told you 
we should. 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 69 

Wash, [^surveying him from head to foot, puzzled ; then 
recognizing, takes him. by the hand."] — Had you not used 
the expression you did, I should not have known you. 
[^Motioning him to he seated. ] 

Wiz. — I have come, General, upon momentous busi- 
ness — business that closely concerns your welfare. 

Wash. — And pray what is that ? 

Wiz. — You are aware, sir, that Johnstone, with his 
associates, sent from England with offers of what the col- 
onies demanded, being foiled in their attempt at negotiat- 
ing a treaty, are emplo3^ed in attempting to corrupt the 
people, and are offering bribes to any who should be 
treacherous enough to receive them. 

Wash. — I am ; and they richly deserve the halter. 

Wiz. — Well, General, an infamous offer of twenty thou- 
sand pounds, and a patent of nobility, has been made to 
any one who will be base enough to betray you into the 
hands of the British. 

Wash. — And has any one accepted the brilliant offer ? 

Wiz. — Yes, sir. Odious as it is in the e3'es of the 
upright, it has been accepted, and by one you would little 
suspect : by one who pretends to be the friend of freedom, 
by one who would flatter you to 3^our face, who is already 
wealthy and stands in high society. 

Wash. — And pray who may the honorable gentleman 
be, who would reap so great a reward by the ca^^ture of 
my humble self? 

Wiz.— You may rely upon the truth of the matter, 
General. The bargain has been struck, the plan arranged, 
and the villain is no other than your quondam friend 
Thomas Summers. 

Wash, \_surprised.'] — Merciful heavens I How can it 
be possible for a man to be so deceitful I How can he 
express the warmest friendship of the heart, at the same 
time that he is planning the ruin of his misnamed friend ! 

Wiz. — Ah, General, the word gold can solve the mys- 
tery. Ambition — unlawful ambition — has been, and will 
be the bane of thousands. 

Wash. — But how do 3'ou know this ? 

Wiz. — I have it from his own mouth. I w^as introduced 
to him in Philadelphia, b}^ accident, as an Englishman, and 
he believes me to be the bitter enemy of those he stig- 



70 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

matizes by the name of rebels. I have had two inter- 
views with him— the last in the presence of Johnstone, 
Carlisle and Eden — and heard the matter discussed. It 
is to put you on your guard, that you may keep your eye 
on Summers, that I came here at such an hour. He is 
treacherous, and will stab while he flatters you. He is in 
raptures with the prospect and the emoluments he will 
reap by the consummation. Beware of him ! 

Wash. — Is it his intention to take me dead or alive ? 

Wiz. — Alive, of course ! The triumph would be half 
lost if you were not taken alive ; and then it is desired by 
hanging you to strike alarm to others, and thus crush at 
one blow the cause of freedom in America. 

Wash. \^proudly.'] — That can never be done ! The fire 
which has been kindled will continue to burn until the 
long-oppressed people of this country shall be free ! That 
man shall yet repent his treachery. Ay, he shall repent 
it in sackcloth and ashes. But what is the plan fixed 
upon for carrying the capture into effect ? 

Wiz. — Why, General, he intends to make a grand party 
in honor of the taking of Burgoyne, and you are, of 
course, to be the principal and most honored guest. Here 
you are to fall into the hands of a detachment of British 
soldiers, detailed for the express purpose from a camp 
near Philadelphia. 

Wash, [pausing thoughtfully.'] — At what hour are the 
soldiers to arrive ? 

Wiz. — Precisely at three o'clock. It is growing late, 
General, and I must leave you. 

Wash. — Thanks I thanks! Farewell. 
l_ Curtain falls.'] 



Scene VII. — J Room in Mr, Summers^ House, 

\_Enter Mi^s. Summers and Servant.] 
Mrs. S. — Tell General Washington that he must be 
certain to give us the honor of his company on Wednesday, 
as the party is given entirely to do him honor. 
Servant. — Yes, ma'am. [Uxit servant.] 
Mrs. S. — To do ourselves honor I mean, for if he comes 
he will certainly be in our power, and if he becomes our 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. ?1 

captive, oh ! happy day ! What honors will await us 1 
[Unter Mr. S.'] 

Mr. S. \h7^eathless.'\ — Good wife, good news ! 

Mrs. S.— What is it ? what is it ? 

Mr. S. — Why, General Washington is to be here on a 
certainty, without fail. \_Glaps his hands. 2 

Mrs. S. — How do you know, husband ? 

Mr. S. — Oh, I met him, and he assured me he would 
be certainly with us on Wednesday, and do himself the 
honor to 

Mrs. S. — To do us everlasting honor I ^Laughs with 
joy.'\ Good news, indeed I 

Mr. S. — I guess he'll catch a tartar this time. 

Mary S. [rushing in frightened.'] — Oh, father, I'm so 
frightened 1 there's the strangest-looking old fellow in the 
yard I ever saw. 

Mr. S. — Oh, it's the wizard, I presume. \_Steps to the 
door.'] Come in, Mr. Fortune-teller, and we'll have some 
fun. Here's some mone^^ for you, [giving him apiece,] 
my good fellow. Now tell us what will happen at our 
house this week. [All laugh as the wizard draws forth 
his mysterious implements and stands in the middle of the 
floor, waving his wand and draioing an imaginary circle.] 

Wiz. — I am now in a charmed circle. [Draws out a 
scroll on which are strange characters.] 

Mrs. S. [ivinking at the others.] — Well, what's to happen ? 

Wiz. — The horoscope is obscured to-day, and I cannot 
read the stars distinctly, but I see a great and grand 
assembly of military men, among whom is George Wash- 
ington. 

Mrs. S. [starts with su7-prise and the giggling ceases.] — 
Strange ! 

Mr. S.— What more? 

Wiz. — I see a party coming on horseback, covered with 
dust, that look like British soldiers. They arrive and dis- 
mount. 

Mrs. S. — Good heavens ! this is strange. 

Mr. S. [joy on his face.] — What next, Mr. Wizard ? ^ 

Wiz. — George Washington, or some one else, is a pris- 
oner in the hands of a party I cannot distinguish. All 
else is in obscurity. 



72 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Mr. S. [ruhUng his hands.'] — Enough! enough! lExit 
Wizard."] 

Mrs. S. — Well, it's mighty strange, indeed, that he can 
tell what is to happen. 

[^Curtain falls.] 



Scene VIII. — The Grand Party at Mr. Summers^ house. 
Summers and family^ Washington and others. 

Mr. S. — Well, General, what is your opinion of the 
war? 

Wash. — In the first place it is a just one on our side, 
and in the second we shall triumph. 

Mr. S. — Just my opinion precisely. It would be a pity 
to fail now after being so deeply plunged into it. \_Mrs. 
S. motions her husband to look frotn the window.] But 
on second thought I am inclined to think you will not 
succeed. 

Wash. — Why do you think so, sir ? \_Loolcs out of the 
window, hut heir ays no emotion.] 

Mr. S. — Because you have many obstacles to overcome, 
which I fear will be insurmountable. 

Wash, \_coolly.] — Never fear. 

Mr. S. — You have cause to fear. \^Sound of steps.] 

Wash. — Why so ? 

Mr. S. — Because you are already in the hands of the 
British. 

Wash, — I hope not, sir I 

Mr. S. \with pride and pleasure, slapping him on the 
shoidder.] — You are my prisoner, General, in the name 
of the King. 

Wash. — I presume not, sir. 

Mr. S. [^laughing, in which Mrs. S. joins.] — You will 
find it so. General, in a few minutes. 

Wash. — You may think so, but I know you are my 
prisoner, in the name of outraged America! [Enter 
officers] Captain Morton, seize him and bear him in- 
stantly to the camp. \_Mrs. S. utters a piercing scream.] 
\_Curtain falls.] 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 73 

Scene IX. — T~he Execution. Soldiers arranged on one side. 
General Washington and Lafayette on the end. Summers 
blindfolded in the centre. Gallows rope in sight. Execu- 
tioner near by. Wizard and Priest. All solemn and silent 
as the curtain rises. 

Priest \_solemnly']. — Oh Lord, we tliank thee that thy 
justice prevails. AVe are made to remember that thy 
arm of power is extended to succor the outraged and op- 
pressed. That all the machinations of the wicked are 
brought to nought. That Thou hast blest and favored 
the cause of American liberty — converting defeat into 
victory and darkness into light. Oh Lord, we adore 
Thee for Thy divine goodness in preserving thus far the 
precious life of our noble commander-in-chief against all 
the attacks of his open enemies and the snares of his 
secret foes, who, under the mask of friendship, would stab 
him to the heart. And oh, gracious Father, when the 
ends of justice here on earth are answered, as relating to 
this poor, miserable, deluded culprit, who shall shortly 
present himself before the aAvfnl tribunal of Thy justice 
and mercy, we humbly beseech Thee to grant him all the 
mercy consistent with Thy holy will, and Thine be the 
glory forever and ever. Amen. 
[Enter Mrs. Summers and Mary habited in deep mourning. 1 

Mrs. S. [kneeling at Washington's feet."] — Spare! oh, 
spare my husband 1 

Mary [in tones of anguish"]. — Spare the life of my poor 
father 1 [swoons and falls.'] 

[Enter Nora hastily.] 

Nora [kneeling by her mother] — Oh, General, save us 
from sorrow too deep to be borne. Spare the life of my 
poor deluded father. I pledge my life that he shall serve 
3^ou and honor you and never sin against you again. 
Spare him, and we will bless you forever. Oh, noble Gen- 
eral, we pray to you, we beseech, we implore you to ex- 
ercise your great clemency and mercy. 

Washington. — Why, Nora, how is this? Has your 
father not driven you from his house, and rudely alienated 
you from his sympathies and care,, and can you thus plead 
for those who despitefully use you ? 



74 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

^ORA. — Oh, General, I know lie has wronged me, but 
I forgive him. I love him although he hates me. He 
may disown me, but he is my father still. Spare him ! 
Oh, spare him ! 

Washington [m undertone']. — What a godlike spirit. 
\^A pause.'] Conduct the prisoner back to the guard- 
house. We will suspend the execution, at least, for the 
present. 

Nora — God bless you. General. 

Mrs. S. — Oh, noble General, then you will spare my 
poor husband ? 

Washington. — Yes, madam, for your outraged Nora's 
sake, not yours ; and, woman, remember this : as thou 
receivest mercy, learn to render it. 

[^Curtaiii falls.'] 




EXCELSIOB DIALOGUES. 75 

LATEST SENSATION IN PODUNK. 

CHARACTERS. 

Elder Job Wiseacre. Madame Bonne Bouche. 

Judge Propriety. Mrs. Wiseacre. 

Mr. Fardingale. Mrs. Fardingale. 

Mr. Hifalutin. Mrs. Hifalutin. 

Mr. Flirt. Mrs. Flirt. 

Town Crier, Mrs. Non-Compos. 

Mrs. Propriety. Miss Serious. 

Fanny Flirt. Miss Credulous. 

Mrs. Heady. Miss Curious. 



Scene I. — Main Street in Podunk, 

Town Crier [with flag — ringing belV]. — yes I O yes I 
yes I Madame Bonne Bouche I Direct from Paris I 
Will give a lecture and matinee to ladies only, this Satur- 
day afternoon at 3 o'clock, at Mummy Hall ! Subjects 
of Life, Health, Business, Fortune, Politics, Art, Poetry, 
etc., treated scientifically and practically I Be wise in 
time I Admission free!— Mummy Halll Three o'clock 
this afternoon I 

Scene II. — Mummy Hall — Spectators ad lib — Prominent 
among them the female characters — Five minutes before 
three — All waiting appearance of lecturer — Salutations 
exchanged^ etc. 

Miss Curious [peering around to discover who are 
present; smiling and nodding occasionally in recognition']. 
— So many present ! I declare I didn't expect quite such 
a rush ! How select, too I I was quite sure it would bring 
out the elite. Katy Credulous [crossing to her], I'm going 
to sit by you. Where have you been this age ? At the 
Springs ? I was certain of it. Tell me all about it. If 
there isn't Mrs. Wiseacre! [Calling.] Mrs. Wiseacre — 
Mrs. Wiseacre I Are you here ? Just to see the vanity 



76 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

of the thing, I suppose. What will the Elder say ? IShaJc- 
ing finger significantly.'] 

Mrs. Wiseacre. — I didn't tell him I was coming. He 
don't believe in woman lectures, or woman any thing — 
especially furren — except woman's spere ! 

Mrs. Propriety. — No more don't my husband! He 
says we should be sta3^ers-at-home, as the Good Bool? 
says ; but I tell him that was written for them heathen 
gad-abouts and don't concern me who don't go out of the 
liouse once in six months — unless it is to meetin' or a- 
shoppin'. 

Mrs. Hifalutin. — For my part I see nothing wicked in 
our learning something of the ways of the world. I think 
it is certainly desirable to guard ourselves against the 
reputation of being unconfisticated. I am very much 
pleased with the style of this. Nothing in the least 
vulgar. 

Miss Serious. — We'd better look pretty sharp, then, 
to see that it isn't no man in woman's clothes with some 
infernal mesmerizing machine I 

Mrs. Heady. — Oh, who could be so suspicious ? 

Mrs. Non-Compos \_deaf'\. — Do you think, Mrs. Wise- 
acre, that anybody is dead? I couldn't exactly make 
out — but I thought we should hear a funeral sermon. 

Mrs.W. [raising voice.'] — I judge not, Mrs. Non-Compos I 
We shall be taught how to live. 

Mrs. N. [nodding assent and smiling. — Sensation.] Yery 
important ! 

Mrs. Fardingale, — I thought it would be very proper 
for us older ones to lend the moderation of our presence. 

Hifalutin. — Such a preponderation is very essential, 
in my humble opinion. 

Miss Flirt [exclaims in ecstasy]. — Oh, admirable! 

[Attention of all directed to platform. General buzzing 
dies away as the lecturer, blooming, fussy and Frenchy, 
sails in, bowing and fluttering.] 

Mad. Bonne B. [after preliminary movements by way 
of flourish.] — Ladees of Podung : How may I express to 
you my sensibilities to speak to so zhanteel and refined — 
so recherche — a companee of peeples ? I never did feel 
so mooch togezer. Pardonnez-moi if my accent is not 
zat of Americah. I speak to ladees — I speak from ze 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 77 

heart — I speak to ze heart — and I moost be heard I Yat 
vill I say zat you may imazheen my sympatee ? Zis vill 
I say — Pahrees is ze center of ze universe — for zat every 
one does know zat to be out of mode is to be out of ze 
worki, and from Pahrees alone does every mode — all 
fashions you call — come ! In every langazhe do I dis- 
cover zat Pahrees does viz ze lettare Pay begeen — and so 
veil likewise does Podung ! Yy, zen, vill not Podung in all 
zat is becoming and grassfiil and posseeble reeval ze 
Pahrees of my heart ? Ze troot is above all zings and 
moost be speaked ! Only since so short a time I vas been 
in Pahrees and vas enraptured viz ze butee of ze new cos- 
tumes zat vere every vere— and vat do I now see? Here 
in Podung I see ze same chvjnons — ze same queues — ze 
same petits chapeaux — and feel at home I In fact, I may 
say ze same of ever}^ zing — and voud ze time permeet, I 
voud give you ze historee of zem all. For I moost tell 
3^ou, my dear friends, zat in zese matters I have been at 
times ze sole confidante of my Emprees Eugenie herself I 
One grand sorrow is mine I Zat I do not hesitate to 
confeede to you zat we may better comprehend ze one ze 
ozer. It vas ze decease of my devoted compagnon zat 
occasioned me to resign m}^ beloved France and ^oyazhe 
to Americah. For vy ? It was too sad alway to be re- 
minded of my loss by every fahmeeliar object, and I vill 
devote myself to those meesterees of science zat formed 
ze object of his life. Yiz him I have voyazhed far and 
wide, and have advised meellions of peeples on ze most 
important sujets of zis vorld ! I makes corsets zat vill 
devel-up even ze figure of a hunchback — I gives powders, 
pills, and balsams zat vill restore yout and butee and 
takes away ever3^ twinge of conscience — I knows how to 
ensure life and fortune, healt and compagnons to all of 
my sex zat pa^^s me ! I have procured a Count or a 
Duke for innumerable demoiselles at a veek's notees. I 
makes recipes of zings useful in every familee — and in ze 
state clairvoyant, viz onlee a lock of hair or leetle morsel 
of writing, I can tell every zing zat has occurred to you, 
or vill — and give 3^ou pictures of friends deceased and 
friends unborn, and foretell to an instant ze destinee of 
zis nation ! I furnishes certified certificates, viva voce 
and written guarantees of my world-renouned abeeletee ! 



78 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

1 tries heads and makes hearts vare zare nevare vas none 
■ — and, more zan all, I vill confess to you ze grand desire 
I have to practees my skill in Podung — zat my dear ladees 
may receive ze benefeet of my art. I am ze pupeel of 
Madame Rachel zat is so famous in Pahrees — ^zat vas so 
successful at ze time of ze Grande Expositicn in ze use 
of her Creestallized Dew of Arabee ! I alone share her 
secret, and vill practees in Podung, if I receives sufficient 
encouragement. I stands before you viz no assistance in 
my art ! I am ze vondare of ze age — and in ze proof of 
m}^ grand powares zat I vill give you aftare a short recess, 
you vill be correct to know for yourself ! 

\_Pause — murmurs of the greatest satisfaction heard.'] 

I vill fategiie you no more longare at zis time, ladees, 
viz my vords — but you vill see, ladees — you vill see — for 
yourself! \_Retires, bowing.'] 

Mrs. Propriety. — Was there ever any thing like it for 
modesty and becomingness ? I shall wait and see it 
through. 

Mrs. Wiseacre. — What a blessing to Podunk ! 

Heady \_strong adventist]. — The millenium is at hand I 
I am sure of it I 

Curious — Oh, I am dying for her to re-appear! 

HiFALUTiN. — I am perfectly distracted with her charms ! 

Credulous. — I can believe any thing now! 

NoN-CoMPOS [wijjing eyes]. — Really, it is too touching ! 
Poor man ! 

[_3fadam Bonne Bouche re-appears] 

Madame. — Ladies, I am at your service ! I vill make 
onlee a short stay in zis place, and zis evening I vill read 
ze past, ze present and ze future for any ladee zat is vil- 
ling. Be not alarmed if I seem in a trance at any mo- 
ment ; for viz ze inveesible world I am perfectly en rapport, 
and often speaks corrective ze langazhe of zose zat I ad- 
dress I 

[ Closes her eyes — strikes her fist on her forehead three 
times — assumes an oracular, sepulchral tone, with but slight 
accent. ] 

Hail, Aphrodite I fresh, as of yore, from the foam of 
the sea I To thee this hour is consecrated. I follow th^f 
word I 

[^Head droops on her shoulders — hands hang in a life- 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 79 

less manner at her side — starts forward a little — relapses 
— speaks.'] 

I see her, that charming mademoiselle ! Will she come ? 
What a destiny is hers ! 

^Several voices: "Fanny Flirt, she means you! Go — 
go ! Yes — go !"] 

[Fanny, with little urging, goes forward. As she advances, 
Madame continues ;] 

She that approaches ! She that, hardly past sweet six- 
teen, has had ten offers, and counts her admirers by scores I 

Invoice among spectators: "Did you ever!" — "I know 
that to be true I"] 

Let me take your hand ! 

[ Takes it — and ivith eyes closed pretends to read its lines.] 

Long life — lands — legacies ! Behold, the Pride of Po- 
dunk 1 Only a few years hence you will have a letter 
from England — follow its directions — an entailed estate 
is yours — ten millions ! Where Podunk Pest-House now 
stands your cis-Atlantic palace shall rear its stately 
head I 

ISpectators agape with wonder — hands raised in amaze- 
ment.] 

Your affinity ! He waits across the sea I 

[_From the crowd: " Well done I I know of four she's 
solemnly engaged to !"] 

And, after the matinee, for a little sum, by the aid of the 
Psychomotrope, I will show you his perfectly life-like pic- 
ture I Would you know more, maiden ? 

[_Fanny, blushing and excited, shakes her head and with- 
draws. Madame presses both hands to her forehead — after 
a moment revives, and invites any lady to come forivard — 
especially the lady with green spectacles. Mrs. Heady 
complies. Madame rising, eyes still closed, asks her to take 
a seat — begins rubbing Mrs. H.^s bonnet — with impatient 
gesture.] 

Not harmony I Not harmony I oh — pardonnez-moi / 
Will the lady remove her hat ? 

[Mrs. H. complies — Madame examines her head, rubs 
hands over forehead, and manipulates her shoulders.] 

Such reverence I [Feeling just above forehead.] Such 
faith 1 Such devotion I But united to such a man I What 
a pity 1 



80 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

[ Voice : " That's so 1 I used to think he'd reform !"] 

Yours is a ship well-freighted — hard-ship I You don't 
get credit for half you do I They call you a perpetual 
-whiner — a know-nothing ; but, could they see the glory re- 
served for you 

[Ifrs. H. mesmerized into a superior state. Sways her- 
self in the chair, makes an effort to rise, and shouts, " Glory 
— glory I How happy I be ! Isaac — Isaac I The time 
has come, said I. Isaac only looked out and said, * The 
stone wall has tumbled down,' said he. How happy I 
be !" Madame proceeds ;] 

You are too excitable 1 I will not reveal more to you 
at present ! 

[^Among the audience : " Yes — yes !" " Please go on !" 
Madame, with a few manipulations, bids her rise. Mrs. 
H. starts up, as from a sleep, with " Where am I ?" is re- 
assured, and resumes her seat. Miss Credulous hurries 
forward and begs Madame to ansiver her a question in 
private. Crowd in a ferment. As she returns, face beam- 
ing with satisfaction, Mrs. Hifalutin and others approach 
Madame.'] 

Mrs. Hifalutin. — Madame Botch, we cannot con- 
gratulate ourselves enough for this wonderful entertain- 
ment ; and I speak for several when I sa}^ that we believe 
you can do all you profess, and vastl}' more. It must be 
fatiguing to remain so long in that trance, and all for our 
benefit ; and, as we wish to ask some very practical ques- 
tions, we desire joa to be one of us. 

Madame. — Wait a moment, ladees I [She sits a moment 
perfectly quiet, as if reposing — makes a few nervous jerks 
— winks and wakes.] I am all attention, ladees ! 

Mrs. Hifalutin. — We want to ask you to describe your 
modus operandi with that enamel you spoke of 

Madame.- — I do not altogezer comprehend you ! 

Hifalutin. — I mean, how do you apply that " Crj^stal- 
lized Dew of Araby*' — and what is your fee? 

Madame. — Oh — oh — pardonnez-moi ! Now I compre- 
hend I Yill many of ze ladees like it ? Zen I vill not 
account so moosh argent — I vill receive not so larzhe 
monnaie. Yen it is applied to ze face and ze hands it 
vill stay so long as seex year, eef you puts on no vatare 

[_From all sides : " Possible ?"] 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 81 

HiFALUTiN \^who has been conversing with others^. There 
are six, at least, who wish an application this very after- 
noon. Mrs. Wiseacre says she certainly would, if she 
only had her purse here. 

Madame. — Oh, my ladde — zat make no difference ! Ze 
Madame can pay some day I I be vary happee to gratify 
all ze ladees. 

IGrowd disperse. Several go with Madame — 3Irs, 
Wiseacre among them.'] 



Scene III. — Elder Wiseacre's Parlor. 

Mr. Flirt \entering'\. — Good-evening, Elder. 

Elder W. \_s'pectacles raised on forehead — hands clasp- 
ing knees — looking solemnly into vacancy. ~\ — Good-evening 
— good-evening, Mr. Elirt. \_Looking up and becoming 
more natural.'] Pleasant evening. 

Mr. F. — Indeed I I can't say it is ! Rained all day 
— and raining pretty hard when I came in. 

Elder W. — Well — what am I thinking of? Of course, 
it was raining like shot when I came in myself. 

Mr. F. — To make a long matter short, I pan tell you 
what I'm thinking of — last Sunday's text — pretty good, 
wasn't it ? — '' Remember Lot's wife 1" 

Elder W. — Why good, Mr. Flirt ? Any thing special ? 

Mr. F.— Better yet, Elder ! I didn't think that of you I 
To pretend such ignorance ! Do you believe in the Witch 
of Endor, Elder? 

Elder W. — Witch of En-dor I I don't think I see the 
pint yet, Mr. Flirt. 

Mr. F. \_dr awing paper from pocket, reads :] 

Mr. Flirt, To Mad. Bonne Bouche, Dr. 

Embellishing Miss Flirt — warranted six years, $50 00 

Have 3^ou received one of these documents? Been re- 
quested to pay a similar snug little sum to the same en- 
terprising individual? 

Elder W, — I remember now that a paper like that was 
handed to me, but I haven't examined it yet. \_Feels in 
pockets — finally produces from hat a similar bill against 
d2 6 



82 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

himself — "For embellishing Mrs. W." — which Mr. F. 
*akes and reads.'\ " Embellishing Mrs. Wiseacre !" [^repeat- 
ing, thunderstruck,'] " Fifty dollars !" Well — as I am a 
living man I 

HiFALUTiN lentering']. — Elder, how's this I 

Judge P. [entering.'] — Good-evening, Elder. I hoped 
to see you alone for a few moments. [Mr. Fardingale 
-inters.] 

Mr. F. — No need to mince matters. Judge. I reckon 
we're all here on the same errand. How do you like fifty 
dollars for an item of embellishment ? Ha — ha — ha ! 

Judge. — I don't like it at all I Are many such docu- 
ments floating around Podunk, I wonder ? 

Mr. F. — I can't get the women to say much, so I've 
come to consult with the Elder. I believe my girl's be- 
witched — to say nothing of what she was before she 
went to see that French fortune-teller. She's tossing her 
head about, putting on such airs, and looks so like a 
painted doll, and lays it all to Mrs. Wiseacre, that I'm 
determined to look into the matter. 

Elder W. — Lays it all to Mrs. Wiseacre ? Well — that 
sets me a-thinkin' agin. Jeriishy would wear her veil 
over her face Sunday, and hasn't showed her face much 
about the house lately. T'other mornin', kin' o' playful- 
like, I pretended I was goin' to dash some water in her 
face, and she screamed and run away so fast that I said, 
Why, you haven't the hydrophoby, have you, Jerushy ? 
But I allers was rather short-sighted, and don't know 
whether she's embellished fifty dollars worth or not. 

Fardingale. — Well, gentlemen, I've gone a step 
farther. This bill [sJwwi7ig] was sent to me this after- 
noon ; and I read it and walked right around to the hotel 
where the Madame stops, and demanded information on 
the subject. My wife always was pretty good-looking, 
and I've always had bills enough to look after — but this 
beats me I Madame told me she had painted up I can't 
tell how many wives and daughters, and warranted them 
for six years, and must be paid, or she'd bring suit. 
What's to be done ? 

HiFALUTiN. — Can't we prosecute her, Judge, for having 
no license, or something of that sort ? 

J udge. —Possibly we might ; but then she would make 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 83 

such notorious capital out of us that we shall wish we 
had paid double. 

Fardingale. — That's so. She told me she had reduced 
her price one-half to accommodate the ladies. 

Judge. ^ — Suppose Mr. Flirt goes round and compro- 
mises the matter in some way. We'll each of us stand 
our share, I know. [ They nod assent.'] Offer her a 
hundred dollars — her expenses in town — and a through 
ticket to New York— eh ? What do you all say ? We'll 
try to keep a better look-out in future. 

Elder. — Won't the women be gettin' off too easy ? If 
I'd supposed Jerushy could have been drawn into any 
such traj) as that, or been the means of drawin' anybody 
else in, I'd just as soon ben indicted as a pickpocket I 
It ain't a matter to come afore the church, is it ? 

Mr. F. — You ought to know, Elder. Looks as if it 
might. Scripture has a good deal to say against such 
doings. 

HiFALUTiN. — The women will pay dearly enough for 
it — a six years' laughing-stock will be retribution enough 
for any of them. 

Judge. — It's agreed, then, Mr. Flirt, that you negotiate 
with Madame in some way. Pay more, if we must — but 
hush it up — hush it up ! It's scandalous. Be sure that 
she's sent out of town immediately — to New York ! We 
will meet here to-morrow evening to hear the finale of 
this Latest Sensation in Podunk I 

\^Curtain falls.^ 



84 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

CHANGING 
THE HUNDRED DOLLAR NOTE; 

OR, 

FALSE PRETENSIONS REBUKED. 

CHARACTERS. 

John Apjohn, a cooper, a very small man. 

Prudence Apjohn, his wife, an exceedingly robust 

woman. 
Tasso Smith. 



Scene. — A Kitchen, Mrs. Apjohn preparing Dinner, 

\^E liter John Apjohn.'] 

John [^putting his feet on the stove with a prodigious 
sigh] — To be sure. It is a sad world, Prudy. What 
would old Abel Dane have said, I wonder! I'm glad 
we've no children. To be sure — to be sure. [^Takes a 
stick from the wood box, and opens the stove-door.] 

Prudence. — There now ! let that stove alone. You 
burn out more wood when you are in the house five min- 
utes, than I do in all daj^ 

John [timidly glancing up at Prudence and laying the 
stick hack]. — It's a cold world. \_Sighs.] 

Prudence. — So much the more need to be savin^ o* fuel. 
We should be in the poor-house 'fore spring, if 'twan't for 
me, [treading heavy and strong about her work.] 
[Exit Pi'udence to the Pantry.] 

John [tries again to put the stick into the stove, hut drops 
it as Prudence reappears]. — Changes in this world is 
very wonderful, [rubs his hand over the stove.] Who 
knows but what it'll be our turn next ? I know'd our 
neighbor there, old Mrs. Dane, when she was as far re- 
moved from trouble as anybody. Then she lost her hus- 
band. Then she was afflicted in her speech. And now 
to be sure — to be sure. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 85 

Prudence. — What now? Has any thing re'ly hap- 
pened ? or is it only 3^ our hypoes ? 

John. — My hypoes ? As if I didn't have reason to ? 
Hain't I seen 'Lizy take the stage this morning, goin' no- 
body knows whar, to arn a livin' among strangers. Abel, 
you know, is going to be married shortly to that Faustiny 
Clark, and 'Lizy naturally enough takes it to heart I spose. 
She's growed just as thin as a stave lately, and she looked 
like death when I put out my hand to say good-bye. 
Massy on it. I just remember when ol' Abel Dane 
adopted that girl, and a faithful dauter she's been to 'em. 
To be sure — to be sure. 

Prudence. — Why, I want to know, [talking from the 
pantry, '\ has she re'ly gone ? Wal, I can't blame her, as 
I know on, but I should most thought 'Lizy stayed to the 
weddin' ; most gals would — I hear that stove — [John closes 
the griddle'] — bi.t probably she felt the necessity of doin' 
something for herself, for Abel can't afford to support 
three women in that house massy knows. Faustiny have 
to put them perty hands of her'n in dish-water. For my 
part, I don't think she's any more fit to be Abel Dane's 
wife, than j^ou be to be President, John Apjohn. 

John. — To be sure — to be sure, [mournfully,'] or than 
you be to be one of them circus-ridin' women. To be 
sure — [ivith a cackling laugh.] 

Prudence [cutting the bread against her bosom]. — Wal, 
come to dinner. 

John [sitting up to the table]. — Ain't we going to have 
nothing but bread and milk ? [imploringly.] 

Prudence. — Bread and milk is good enough. I couldn't 
afford to cook any thing to-day. Here's some o' that 
corned beef, and beautiful apple-sas I 

John [mildly]. — Cold day this, ought to have some- 
thin' warmin'. Cup o' tea, bile an Qgg ; some sich thing. 

Prudence. — Eggs ! when we can get thirty cents a dozen 
for 'em. 

John. — To be sure. Did you hit the table then ? [With 
a look of alarm.] 

Prudence. — No ! Wasn't it you ? 

[Another knock at the door.] 

John [gasping]. — There's somebody at the front door, 
Prudy I What shall we do t 



Ob EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Prudence. — Let 'em in, of course ; they ain't robbers 
this time o' day. \^She tramps ponderously to the door, 
and admits Tasso Smith, a flashily-dressed young man, 
with soft simpering face, greased hair, tender moustache, 
and a very extensive breast-pin.'} 

Prudence. — Tasso Smith ! [^with a half contemptuous 
lifting of her brow- wrinkles.'] 

John \_springing to his feet, upsetting his chair behind 
him, and spilling the milk from the pan with the jostle he 
gave the table.'] I shouldn't have knowed ye, you've 
altered so ! 

[ Tasso looks conscious of having altered very much, to 
his own satisfaction, and gave John two fingers.] 

John. — Seddown, seddown I [Bighting his chair and 
placing it for the visitor.] Don't it beat all, Prudy ! 
Where did you come from, Tasso — Mr. Smith ? 

Tasso ^grimacing]. — From the city. 

John. — To be sure, to be sure ! 

Prudence. — Been making money, I guess, hain't ye, 
Tasso ? 

Tasso [twirling his rattan]. — Managed to live, [nodding 
significantly at Fi^udence.] Cit3"'s good place for enter- 
prisin' young men, [nodding to John.] Thought I'd come 
out'n see what I could do for the ol' folks. [ Grossing 
his legs, he thrusts his rattan into a button-hole of his 
brass-buttoned coat, hangs his hat on the toe of his tight- 
fitting patent-leather boot, and pompously takes out his 
pocket-book.] I've called to pay — to remunerate you — ye 
understand, for them barrels pa had of you some time 
ago. Can you change a fifty dollar bill ? 

[John sits down and stares. Tasso smooths his moustache 
and smiles.] 

Prudence. — I declare, Tasso, I never expected you 
would turn out so well. Re'ly payin' your pa's debts, be 
you? I remember when you used to be around, the 
dirtiest, raggedest boy't ever I see ! [ Tasso looks uncom- 
fortable.] And now you're payin' your pa's debts! 
Think o' that, John Apjohn. 

John. — To be sure, to be sure, [looking awe-stricken at 
Tasso,] only ten and six, I believe the account is. Isn't 
it, Prudy ? 



ESCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 87 

Prudence. — With interest, it's more'n two dollars by 
this time. 

John [in a weak voice'].— 0\i, never mind interest, 
Prudy. 

Prudence [insisting']. —Yes, I will ! Call it two dollars, 
anyhow. 

Tasso. — Sorry I hain't got no smaller bills, [glancing 
over a handful of hank notes,] but you can probably break 
a fifty. 

[John and Prudence look at each other, then hoth look 
at the visitor.] 

Prudence.— Why, if you can't do no better [hesitatingly] 
— I don'o — mabby I can change it. 

Tasso [reddens with embarrassment, fumbles his money, 
and mutters as he turns each bill]. — Hundred, hundred, 
I declare ! don't believe I got a fifty — hundred — hundred 
— thought I had — remember, now, paying it out. Can 
you break a C ? [with a foolish smile.] 

John. — What say, Prudy ? 

Prudence [nodding assent]. — Yes, I can break a C, 
[loith disdain.] Though you thought it would break me, 
I guess. 

[ Tasso sweats over his bills, and wipes his red pimply 
face. Prudence tahes a key from the clock-case and pro- 
ceeds to an adjoining room, folloived by John. Tasso gets 
up, and peeping through the crack, sees the thrifty couple 
on their knees by an open chest, counting money. He 
slips hack to his seat, p)uts his pocket-book out of sight, 
and is twirling his rattan when John and Prudence 
enter.] 

Prudence [clasping a handful of money]. — I'll look at 
your bill, if you please. 

Tasso [indifferently]. — Oh, le'me see! Oh, yes; after 
you went out, I found some small bills in my vest pocket. 
Save you the trouble. [Fingers his vest-pocket, and brings 
to light a dirty rag of paper.] 

Prudence [laughing]. — '* He put in his thumb, and 
pulled out a plumb, and what a brave boy was I !'' [scorn- 
fully unrolling the rag.] Two one-dollar bills I Wal, 
that's what I call comin' down a little. Great deal of 
talk for a little bit of cider. 

Tasso [wincing and switching his stick]. — Might ge'e 



OO EXCELSIOK DIALOGUES. 

me back the cliange 'f you're mind to, as pa didn't author- 
ize me to pay no interest. 

Prudence [angrily^. — Idee o' your hagglin' 'bout a 
little interest money, arter such a swell with your hundred 
dollar bills ! 

John \_deprecatingly']. — Come, come, Prudy. 

Prudence. — I don't believe you've got a hundred dollar 
bill in the world. No Smith of your breed ever had I 

John. — There, there, Prudy. 

Prudence. — You'd no more notion o' payin' that debt, 
when you come into this house, than I had to fly ; and 
you wouldn't, if I hadn't ketched jq in a trap ye didn't 
suspect. 

John. — Prudy, Prudy, you're sajnn' too much. 

Prudence. — I ain't saying any thing but the truth, and 
he can afford to hear that arter all the trouble he has put 
me to. Here's a ninepence — I'll divide the interest with 
ye, and say no more about it. 

[Tasao sneaks out.^ 

John [looking luretched'].-^-! wouldn't have had it hap- 
pen, Prudy 

Prudence [with scorn and triumph']. — I would I Such 
a heap of Pretension, with that little bit of a cane, and 
them nasty soap-locks, and all that big show of one dollar 
bills 1 I like to come up with sich people. 
[Curtain falls.'] 




EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 89 

THE FALSE ACCUSATION. 

CHARACTERS. 

Judge Clairmont. 

Henry, son of Judge. 

Bernard, the Accused. 

Maud, Bernard's Betrothed. 

Clerks and Lady Attendants in Court-room. 



Scene I. — Cell in Prison — Bernard sitting with head buried 
^ in his hands — Maud seen entering cell door. 

Bernard. — What now, jailor? Did I not beg to be 
free from th}^ babbling intrusion ? Four times this day hast 
thou rudely ignored my request. Art a spy upon me ? 
Dost think I'll do myself damage ? I am not a coward ; 
believe me, thou canst safely leave me to myself 

Maud. — Look up, Bernard, it is Maud who would speak 
to thee ! Wilt thou call me intruder also ? 

Ber. — Didst come at last ! So long hast denied me 
thy presence, that thy coming has lost half its cheer. 
If to reproach my disgrace thou hast come, say on : I will 
not interrupt thee. I am no longer proud, since honor is 
denied me. See [risiiig'\ I'll stand in courtesy to what 
thy tongue ma}^ utter. 

Maud. — My sorrowing Bernard, thou art more than 
proud in thy judgment of me. Thou art unjust 1 

Ber. — That is the reflection left in my heart of those 
with whom I come in contact. What wouldst thou ? 

Maud. — I would have thee know that love and sym- 
pathy do not harbor reproach. For I believe thee as free 
from guilt as is my devotion. 

Ber. [taking her hand.'] — Do not mock me, Maud. I 
would cast away this doubt of thee ; but tell me, why so 
long in bringing this balm to my wretchedness ? 

Maud. — Every day have I begged for a sight of thee, 
but admittance was prohibited. To-day, in frantic des- 
pair, I went to the good wife of the jailor, and so earnest 



Do EXCELSIOR Dialogues. 

was my pleading it touched her woman's heart, and thus 
her influence gained the keeper to our cause. 

Ber. — Thy parents, Maud, they have ever considered 
my lowly station and small means a crime ; what say they 
now of me ? Do they believe me guilty ? 

Maud. — Circumstances are against thee, Bernard, but 
we cannot blame them for judging as does the world. 
You know they do not know thee as I do. 

Ber. — And hast thou risked their displeasure in coming 
hither ? Hast not their consent ? 

Maud. — A child's obedience is paramount. But T also 
owe thee a duty : 'twas thus I reasoned with them in my 
presumption. They did not forbid me. 

Ber. — Noble girl ! how can I ever prove myself de- 
serving of this confidence I Oh ! how helpless I am in my 
poverty. Maud, money would, no doubt, detect the culprit 
for whom I now am punished, but alas, without that and 
without friends, all that is left me is disgrace ; but thou, 
Maud, how will thy tender heart bear up under years of 
waiting ? Think, Maud : waiting for a convict, an outcast. 
Oh I it's maddening to dwell on this. How canst thou 
link thy fate to one who has no hope in the future, for 
never again can I look on life a free man, shackled by the 
horrible names of forger I thief ! Oh, what a fate is this I 

Maud. — Bernard, give me thy hand — so — [^placing the 
other about hiiii]. Thus we will give the world scorn for 
scorn. Though all humanity look on in contempt, and 
fortune be ever so treacherous, thus will we rise above 
them to the eye of the JUST, for thou art innocent! I 
will work, search, and supplicate, and I tell thee, Bernard, 
thou shalt be righted yet. Though circumstance control 
men, Justice will bring it to naught. Truth must and 
will conquer. 

Ber. — Maud I Maud I To see such glorious courage 
and nobleness of soul as thine, will reconcile even selfish 
man to such a lot as mine. Hark ! they are coming to tell 
thee time is up. Thanks, a thousand heartfelt thanks, for 
thy visit — my consolation. I shall be a man, since I am 
richer than if possessed of the world's gold, for it could 
not purchase your confidence nor my innocence. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 91 



Scene II. — Representing Court-room — yudge seated back of 
desk — Bernard^ with folded arms^ standing in front— 
— Maud and group of ladies at one side. 

Judge. — Prisoner, thou art found guilty of the awful 
crime of forgery and theft. It now becomes my duty to 
pass upon thee the sentence of the Court. What makes 
this duty doubly painful, is to see thee before me as a 
criminal. Thou, whom I have loved and protected with 
mine own son, under mine own roof, and at mine own 
table. Thou didst abuse my confidence and insult my 
love by forging mj^ name to the sum of ten thousand 
dollars. Thou didst at divers times steal to my treasury 
and purloin therefrom moneys, for which the leniency of 
the Court has been asked in its judgment. Before I pass 
the sentence, hast thou ought to say ? 

Bernard. — Nothing more than I have said before: I 
am innocent of the charges brought against me ; that is 
all, sir. 

Judge. — Then by the edict of the Court, I do sentence 
thee to ten years of hard labor in the State Penitentiary. 
May thy conduct be such that the stringent rules of the 
place may be ameliorated to thy comfort. I now remand 
thee back 

Maud [interrupts by casting herself at his feef]. — Oh, 
sir 1 give him but a little respite, wherein to clear his 
name of this shameful stain. By the love thou aver'st 
once was his, grant but a few days ! — he is innocent I I 
who can read his inmost thoughts, say it ! 

Judge. — Thou art an eloquent advocate ; but cease — 
'tis loss of time, and we have other cases to discharge. 

Maud. — Sir, I will not leave thee. Thou hast an only 
son ; is he less fallible than human kind, think, fond 
father, were he placed thus, with only his youth to resist 
the temptations that beset it ? Speak — couldst thou then, 
in cool judgment, take from him the best years of his 
life, and doom that holy gift of God to disgrace ? 

Judge. — Thou reasonest like a woman. Men look from 
sterner heights, else crime would rule and justice be but a 
name. He has been fairly tried, and the good of man- 
kind demands this sentence. 



92 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Maud. — Then I will share his ignominy. I, too, will be 
called a robber, sirl [seizing a pin on his bosom.'] 

Judge. — Thou art mad, child, and shouldst be taken 
care of. Who art thou ? 

Maud. — Not a child; but, in the sight of heaven, a 
wife, pleading for that dearer gem than life — a young 
man's honor. See to it, cold-hearted Judge, that th}^ 
boasted sense of justice find never an occasion to plead 
with a father's love ! 

[During this time, Henry Clairmont advances to Ber- 
nard'' s side — addressing Judge.] 

Henry. — Father I Judge 1 

Judge. — Well, my son. 

\_Maud takes the hand of Bernard: they step aside.] 

Henry. — I am — oh, father, I cannot see another suffer 
for my sins — I am the criminal ! 

Judge. — What freak is this, boy ? But thou wert ever 
generous and soft of heart ; go to, — thy foolishness can- 
not avail thee here. 

Henry. — Hear me, sir ; but do not curse me, for I speak 
truly. 'Tis Bernard who is generous : he well knew it was 
I, th}^ worthless son, who robbed thee. 'Tis I who have 
insulted a father's love. Not daring to ask thee for so 
heavy a sum lost at play, being carried beyond myself 
in fear of immediate exposure, I forged thy name, hoping 
to replace the amount by some more fortunate stroke. 
Oh! in mercy, speak my j^unishment, that I may be 
gone from thy sight. [Judge drops his head on the desk 
and groans.] 

Judge. — Is this my boy who speaks ? Friends, is this 
not a nightmare? Let me clear my vision — [wipes his 
eyes] — surely that is my son. Yes, truly, mortally falli- 
ble. I, too, am very human ; can I then judge my son ? 
See, friends, he is not all bad : he did confess, when I did 
not suspect. Oh, evil fate, that bade me these five-and- 
twenty years to sit in judgment until my son should rise 
up in sin to give the sentence to his father, [with emotion.] 
A childless and dishonored man, such is his decree. 
Come, boy, let us hide ourselves until some worthier 
man than I pass sentence on thy double crime. And, 
girl, [to Maud,] think not too meanly of the would-be 
stern Judge, whom thou seest sacrifice justice to his flesh 
and blood. [Curtain falls.] 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES.^ 93 

HIRING HELP. 

CHARACTERS. 

Charles Earnest, a clerk on a small salary. 

Moses Schalk, keeper of an Intelligence Office. 

Simon, confidential clerk of Moses. 

Susan Earnest, sister of Charles. 

Aunt Nancy, housekeeper for the Earnests, 

Widow Moran, professional cook, &c. 



Scene I. — Room in a Private House. 

f 

Susan. — I don't care, Charlie, if you are my only 
brother, I think you are real mean ! Here it has been 
dear knows how many weeks that I have been trying to get 
you to talk with me about that dinner-party which you 
know I am dying to give ; and not one single word can 
I get out of you ! Now I propose having the matter 
settled this morning. It isn't time for you to go to the 
store, I know, and you must listen to me ! No dodging 
now I What do jom say ? Can I, or can't I ? 

Charles. — Keally, Sue, if I could see any good reason 
for the part}^ ; or if I knew how we could afford it — why 
I might 

Susan. — Ah, there it is I How can you men be ex- 
pected to see any reason for such things, unless, indeed, it 
is an affair which concerns only your own selves? Then, 
to be sure, you can find reasons as plenty as black- 
berries. Don't you know all our neighbors have been 
giving them ? and many of them no better able to do it 
than we are. Besides, you know, my heart is set upon 
it ; and I should think you might grant me just this favor. 
You know I don't often trouble you. 

Chas — Such affairs cost money ; and that is a com- 
modity of which we have by no means a surplus. Sis. 
We shall gain nothing by the proposed party ; and we 
are under no obligations to others to gij^e one, as we 
have never accepted any of their invitations. 



94 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Susan. — True enough ; but then everybody knows that 
was your own fault — that I should gladly have gone to 
every one of them, if you hadn't objected. But that is 
neither here nor there. 1 want to give the party. Now 
come right to the point ! If I can arrange the expense so 
that we can see our way clear, what have you to say then ? 

Chas. — Why, so far as I am concerned, I don't fancy 
the idea at all. Still, if you can show me how we can 
manage the financial department, I am willing to yield 
my opposition and gratify your wishes in this particular 
instance. 

Susan. — That's a dear, good brother ! I knew you 
would let me have my way when I could have an oppor- 
tunity of setting the matter before you in its right light.* 
About the cost now — that can be fixed nicely. Of course, 
we shall need a cook.- Aunt Nancy is excellent for the 
plain style in which we live ; but for such an occasion 
she would never answer. 

Chas. — You don't mean that we must employ a servant ! 

Susan. — Just wait a moment till you hear me out ! 
I've been looking through the papers for some time past 
to see if I couldn't run across something that would suit 
us in such an emergency — and here it is to a T. Read 
that ! [Handing a newspaper. ~\ 

Chas. [reads.'] — Reformed Intelligence Office. No 
More Imposition. Moral and religious families desirous 
of obtaining servants, of the same character, can be ac-' 
commodated by applying at No. 303 Confidence Street. 
Refer to the Mayor and City Councils. Satisfaction 
guaranteed in all cases, or no charge. Cooks and other 
accomplished servants furnished for private parties at 
reasonable rates. M. Schalk. 

Susan. — Could there be any thing more to our mind ? 
And I have been to this office and find that I can get ' 
just the woman I wish, and for the time I shall need her, 
for three dollars. And even that I am not to pay till 
after the party, nor then, unless I am perfectly satisfied. 
What would you have better thun that ? 

Chas. — Cheap enough — perhaps. 

Susan. — Oh, you always will have your ifs and your 
buts and your perhapses. I declare it seems sometimes 
as if you think I don't know anything I But Aunt Nancy 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 95 

is to go with me when T engage the cook ; and you'll 
admit that she knows how to make a bargain. 

Chas. — Well — well — let that pass ! Considering j^our 
superlatively excellent cook engaged on such wonderfully 
cheap terms, what do you propose doing for crockery and 
silver ? You know the extent of our resources in that direc- 
tion. Does somebody engage to pay you something hand- 
some for taking what you will require in those two lines ? 

Susan. — There now, Charles ! Why will you be jesting 
or sneering all the time when I am anxious to have a busi- 
ness talk with you? You have acted so unhandsomely 
about the servant arrangement that I am determined to 
furnish j^ou with none of the details about other matters. 
Enough for you to know, that I can procure a complete 
outfit for the table for ten dollars. 

Chas. — Plate and plated silver? 

Susan. — Good enough for anybod}^, I assure you. The 
entire expense of the party shall not exceed fifty dollars. 
Isn't that cheap enough in all conscience ? 

Chas.— Yes— but 

Susan. — There it is again ! But what ? 

Chas. — But it's half a month's salary. 

Susan. — Pshaw ! We can save it on the next month's ; 
or, at all events, on the next quarter's. Do own up like 
an honorable man ! Could you have imagined that I 
could carry out my plans for so small an amount of money ? 
Honestly — could you ? 

Chas. - Well— no ! That is, if 

Susan. — Never mind your if, if you please. The thing 
is settled, then — is it ? Aunt and I will engage the cook 
and table furniture this very day. What do you say to 
this day week for the dinner ? Any objection ? 

Chas. — No — if it is to be — as the man said who was to 
be hanged — one day will suit me as well as another 
Whom do you invite ? 

Susan— Oh, I'll attend to that ! You'll be satisfied. 
Give me the money and you may go. I won't detain you 
any longer. 

Chas. [giving money. ~\ — Sue, do you flatter yourself 
that this will cover the expense ? 

Susan. — Most certainly. I've figured out every item 
Not a cent above fifty dollars. 



96 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Chas. — May I make a suggestion as I go, without being 
deemed impertinent ? 

Susan. — Yes. What is it ? 

Chas.— It won't! 

Susan. — It will, I tell you I Good-bye I You'll have 
to grant when I get through with this, that I know some- 
what more about business than yoii give me credit for. 
l^Exit Charles. Susan calls after him.'] Oh, Charlie I 
what if I save ten dollars of the fifty? I attend to the 
inviting — remember I 

Scene II. — Office^ desh^ table and chairs. 

Moses \at desk luriiing']. — Simon I Simon I 

Simon [entering from rear]. — Well! 

MosES. — Have j^ou seen Smith this morning? 

Simon. — Smith ? Which one ? The pawnbroker, or 
the junk-shop man, or the auctioneer, or the common 
councilman, or the 

Moses. — The detective. 

Simon. — Oh, him ! Yes. 

Moses. — Has he fixed that all right ? 

Simon. — Which ? The sneak thief, or the pickpocket, 
or the burglar, or the 

MosES. — The Widow Moran. Is that all straight? 

Simon. — All square — says he'll warrant her the best 
house-thief in the city ; but you must give him a quarter 
of all she gets. He says he ought to have more, but he'll 
put up with that for this job. 

MosES, — The scoundrel ! It's double what any one else 
would give him. However, he helps the shop all he can, 
and we won't grumble. Tell him it's agreed. Look here, 
Simon I I think we can make a good thing out of this. 
You know that young woman who was here yesterday ■ 

Simon. — She as kicked up a row about them dresses 
one of our folks took ! 

Moses. — No — no — the one who wants a good honest 
cook for a dinner-party. 

Simon. — Oh, her 1 humph ! Yes — thinks she has all 
her eye-teeth cut— don^t she? Asked if we were regu- 
larly licensed — didn't she ? Do you see any thing green ? 
What an innocent ! 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 97 

Moses. — I'll lend her the Widow Moran. 

Simon. — It won't pay — not enough to take. Brother 
is only a clerk and gets about a thousand or fifteen hun- 
dred a year. It won't pay, I tell you ! 

Moses.— Trust an older head, will you! The young 
woman is after hiring some crockery and silver. I can 
work them in. Now do you see ? 

Simon.— What ? No ! Do you ? 

Moses. — You know that plated set Jane Briggs brought 
us last week? I'll have that put up in shape — it's at 
Gutman's. I recommended him to her — valued at five 
hundred — party over — silver missing — ditto Widow — 
reward offered-r-no takers — brother forced to pay I Hum ! 
Now you see I 

Simon. — The Widow is the piece for that job — talks 
like a parson. We must look out and keep her sober, 
though. She is to be around this morning — coming in 
the back way. I'll see that she don't get too much 
whiskey. Set her tongue going right — that's all ! By 
the wa}^, the committee have called for some more money 
on that School Commissioner nomination of yours. 

Moses. — Confound the rascals! What do they expect 
to do with it ? They've had more than the thing's worth 
already. If it weren't for it's puttiug me on Ihe track 
for Common Council, I'd throw it in their faces. All the 
contracts have been given out, and there isn't a show to 
make election expenses even. Tell them to keep easy for 
a day or two. We'll see what for a present the Widow 
makes us. 

Simon. — Leave that to me — I'll manage it. I put your 
name down this morning for that church concern on 
Doubleyou street— fifty. 

Moses. — Bather steep — but it will pay, I reckon. Put 
things straight there on the table I For heaven's sake 
take away that Police Gazette! Where's the Religious 
Intelligencer'^ You haven't used that for kindling, have 
you ? It was the only one about the establishment. 

Simon [^arranging papers on table"]. — Here are some 
benevolent reports and tracts — ^just as good ! [Looking 
out of door.] Here comes the Widow Moran woman — 
•and some one else in tow — an old 'un ! Quick! I'll cook 
them till 3^ou're ready ! [Fwit Hoses hurriedly.] 
E 7 



98 EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 

Susan [^entering ivith Aunt Nancy']. — Is Mr. Schalk in? 
[to Simon at desk.] 

Simon. — Not this moment, mum. Take seats, ladies. 
He'll be in shortly. Dr. Bungle sent his carriage down 
for him about an hour ago. Is there any thing that I 
can do for 3^ou ? I represent Mr. Schalk in his absence. 
Would you like to look at our lists ? 

Susan. — I was here j^esterday making inquiries of Mr. 
Schalk about engagiug a cook for a party. He mentioned 
a person who would answer very well, I should judge, 
from his description. He said he would have her here this 
morning. 

Simon. — ^What may I call your name, mum ? 

Susan.— Earnest — Miss Earnest. 

Simon. — Beg your pardon, mum — will look at the book. 
[Examining.] Yes, mum — Mrs. Moran is the cook's 
name, Mr. Schalk mentioned. Excuse me a moment. I 
will send our boy for her. [Exit at rear.] 

Aunt N. [looking around.] — Indeed, Susan, this appears 
to be a ver};- respectable place. I was afraid it might be one 
of those Jew holes where no decent person could venture. 
Quite a respectable place 1 And the young man is very 
polite. 

Susan. — I am so glad 3^ou think so, aunt ; for I should 
never hear the last of it from Charles, if any thing should 
miscarry. But we'll look sharp for that, won't we ? 

Moses [ente7^ing]. — Grood-morning, ladies. Ah, Miss — 

Susan. — Earnest. 

Moses. — Ah, yes — excuse me — Miss Earnest. Didn't 
think you would call so early. Will trj^ and meet your 
wishes, however. You haven't told me when you desired 
the cook's services. 

Susan. — This day week. 

Moses. — Ah, sorry for it! [meditating.] But I'll see 
if it cannot be remedied, [going to book.] As I thought 
— she is engaged — Mrs. Moran is engaged for that day ; 
but I know the family very well — Judge Partial's, brother- 
in-law of Dr. Bungle's, from whom I have just come. Yes, 
we will accommodate you, Miss. You will pardon me, but 
I have made inquiries and find your family satisfactory 
in the highest degree. [Susan looks at Aunt N. in aston- 
ishment.] You look surprised, ladies; but it is the in- 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. UiJ 

variable custom of this oflSce. We insist upon good 
character in both emplo^^ers and servants. Any other 
course would most certainly involve us in trouble. We 
desire, and — I may safely add — have none but patrons of 
the highest respectability. 

Susan. — I was not aware, sir, that such a custom pre- 
vailed; but it is, certainly, an excellent idea. If the 
matter had been named to me yesterday, I could have 
satisfied you on that point. 

Aunt N. — Our acquaintances are among the very best 
families in the city — Rev. Dr. Thunder, Lawyer Quick— 

Moses. — So I have been informed. That question is 
happily disposed of Mrs. Moran \loohing at watch'] was 
to be here b}^ this time. Would j^ou like to examine 
her testimonials, or do you prefer personal inquiries ? 
Strangers to the office generally choose to make inquiries 
for themselves. When the}^ become familiar with our 
mode of doing business, they are saved the necessity of 
subjecting themselves to that inconvenience. \_Widow M. 
enters.'] Ah, good-morning, madam I We were just 
speaking of you. This is the lady who desires your ser- 
vices as dinner-cook. Miss Earnest — Mrs. Moran. 

Widow M. — Your servant, Miss — and yours, madam. 

Susan. — My aunt — Mrs. Moran. [Aunt N. boivs.] 

Widow. — I should have been here earlier, ladies ; but 
I was kept up-town longer than I intended. 

MosES. — Some charitable affair, I am positive. Mrs. 
Moran's heart, ladies, is so easily touched that any call 
for assistance meets with a prompt response from her. 
Really, I fear that she is often imposed upon. 

Widow. — If you please, Mr. Schalk, don't talk about it. 
It is our duty to relieve others who may need it [look- 
ing meaningly at 3Ioses] to the extent of our ability. 
With consequences we have nothing to do. What day, 
Miss, did you wish me ? 

Susan. — This day week; but Mr. Schalk says you are 
engaged. 

Moses. — But I told the young lady that the Judge's 
lady would relinquish her claim for that day at my re- 
quest. [ Winking, unnoticed by Susan and Aunt N.] 

Widow. — That I should leave entirely in your hands, 
Mr. Schalk ; but I must insist upon it that Mrs. Partial 



100 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

is perfectly willing. My word is pledged; and I mus\ 
fulfil my engagement at all hazards, unless released. 

Moses. — My word for it, madam, that Mrs. Partial is 
satisfied. 

Widow. — How large a party do you have, Miss Earnest? 

Susan. — About thirty. 

Widow. — Quite a select affair! When I lived at Mrs. 
Sharp's — jou may know Mrs. Sharp of Seventeenth Ave- 
nue — I lived with her five years — it was not an uncommon 
thing to have plates for seventj^-five or a hundred. But 
we'll talk these matters over by ourselves — that is, if my 
references are acceptable. 

Moses. — Ah — yes! The references! ICalling.^ Simon! 

Simon \_entering']. — Sir ! 

Moses. — Give the ladies Mrs. Sharp's address, that they 
may make inquiries about Mrs. Moran. 

Susan. — No — no, sir ! No occasion for it ! I am satis- 
fied — perfectly satisfied. 

Aunt N. — Not by no manner of means ! If Mrs. Moran 
will call upon us soon 

Widow. — Will Saturday morning do ? [Exit Simon.'] 

Susan. — Certainly. Saturday morning, then, we shall 
expect you. 

Widow. — Excuse me, ladies, if you j^lease, as I have 
an appointment. Saturday morning it is. Good-day, 
ladies I lExiL] 

MosES. — I will return in a moment, ladies. [^Uxit."] 

Aunt N. \_snuffing.'] — Don't you smell something like 
rum hereabouts, Susan ? 

Susan [snuffing]. — Now that you speak of it, I do 
smell something. [Looking around and discovering bottle 
on desk.] Oh, I see! [pointing.] That alcohol for wiping 
off the furniture ! 

Aunt N. [relieved.]— 'Whj, bless me I So it is! Aren't 
they proper neat, Susan ? 

MosES [entering]. — About the crockery and silver, Miss 
Earnest. I have attended to that, and can save you the 
trouble of calling upon Mr. Gutman. Please sign this re- 
ceipt for the articles named — to be returned on Thursday 
of next week in as good condition as taken — any loss or 
damage to be made good — and I will order them sent to 
you a day in advance. 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 101 

Susan. — Thauk you for your trouble. l^Beads tmd 
signs, Aunt N. lootmg over."] 

Moses [_rubbing hands and smirJcing'\. — All is arranged, 
then ! If your patronage of our establishment, ladies, 
fulfils 3^our expectations, please mention us favorably to 
your friends. 

Susan. — With pleasure, Mr. Schalk. 

Aunt N. — You may depend upon it we will. [^Exeunt.l 

MosES \to Simon entering^. — Easily managed — weren't 
they ? 

Simon.— Done like a brick! What would you have 
done, though, if they had taken it into their heads to go 
to Sharp's ? 

Moses. — Pooh! I knew they wouldn't; and, if they 
had, didn't the Sharps have a servant of that name who 
stayed with them five years, and they don't know where 
she is now ? That would have been all straight, you ma^^ 
bet ! And isn't the Sharp certificate in my hands ? 

Simon. — Tight as a drum ! Didn't the Widow play il 
well ? But I had all I could do to rein her in on thy 
whiskey. 

Moses.— I believe you I She must be put on a double 
short allowance when she takes hold of the job— a gallon 
after it is done. Nothing like having eyes and ears for 
business, you know I 

Scene III. — Room in a Private House, 

Susan [^icalking about the room excitedly^- — I declare I 
thought Charles would never finish his breakfast. I never 
knew him to stay so long before going to the store ! I 
was aching every minute to have him out of the way that 
we might talk the thing over by ourselves. What shall 
we do ? What shall we do ? Are you sure she has gone ? 

Aunt N. [^equally agitated.'] — As sure as I am that I am 
alive this blessed minute — the lying, thieving baggage 1 
I only wish she were here ! She took herself ofl[* some 
time during the night. 

Susan. — And the crockery and silver all gone ? 

Aunt N. — All gone — all gone I 

Susan. — How could she get at it ? Here is the key of 
the chest \holding it up] where I put them so carefully 



102 EXCELSIOR t>lALOGLfES. 

before I went to bed — the very chest in which the things 
were sent — I locked it myself. And you say the chest is 
still locked ? She must have had another key. How 
could she carry them off? What shall we do, aunt ? 
What shall we do? I can't pay for the things, and I 
dare not tell Charles. Oh, dear — oh, dear I- What shall 
we do I What shall we do ! 

Aunt IST. — Dear only knows I I wish we hadn't never 
touched the party at all — that's what I do I You know 
I never wanted it I How could you have coaxed me into 
it, Susan? 

Susan. — Kow, aunt, you know that is unkind. You 
know you didn't require much urging. Don't — I beg of 
you — add to my troubles. Charles can say that ; but, in- 
deed and truth, aunt, you know you can't. What shall 
we do I What shall we do I 

A UNT N. — Wait a minute — I'll go up-stairs again. {^Exit."] 

Susan. — To think of such an ending to the party ! After 
all my teasing to bring Charles around — after all the wor- 
rying, and fussing, and working, and bothering to get 
things right I Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! But it was a nice 
affair, everybody said — better than the Timmins's, or the 
Wiggins's, or the Stubbs's — at least, half a dozen told me 
so! And I thought Charles enjoyed it 1 What did he 
bring that odd-acting man with him for, I wonder, after all 
I had said about inviting I I didn't like his prying looks 
and ways. But they are gone — gone I What shall I do I 
What shall I do ! 

Aunt N. \_entering.'] — What do you think ? Who would 
have believed it I How could she do it, and we — none of 
us — know it ? 

Susan. — What — what ? Any thing more ? 

Aunt N. — My watch and chain 

Susan. — Gone ? 

Aunt N. — Gone — and my watered silk — and my velvet 
bonnet — and my portemonnaie I 

Susan. — Why in the world didn't you lock your door ? 
Why didn't you ? I thought you always did I 

Aunt N. — I did — I did — just as I have every mortal 
night since I've lived here. Didn't you lock the plate- 
chest ? And haven't you the key in your pocket now ? 
And aren't the things gone ? 



EXCELSIOli DIALOGUES. 103 

SusAis — True enough — true enough ! I must run up 
and see if any thmg has been taken from my room. [_JExit.'] 

Aunt N. — Why did I let Susan talk me over I I might 
have known no good could come from such goings-on ! 
We hadn't no business to meddle with such I As old as 
I am I ought to have known better. My watch and chain 
— oh, dear ! My silk — oh dear, dear I My bonnet — oh 
dear, dear, dear ! My portemonnaie — oh dear, dear, dear, 
dear ! I never liked the woman's looks from the very 
first. I always thought there was something that 
shouldn't be about her ! Could the man at the office have 
known any thing wrong ? Not he — impossible I What a 
blow it will be to him, poor man ! What villains there 
are in this wicked world ! My watch and chain — my silk 
— my bonnet — my portemonnaie I Oh, dear, dear, dear I 

Susan [^entering']. — My locket — my best grenadine — 
my pink sash! Oh dear, dear, dear! I didn't dare ven- 
ture into Charles's room. Nobody knows what is missing 
there. Oh, aunt, aunt ! We are ruined — completely 
ruined ! What will Charles say I What shall we do ! 
What shall we do ! Let us put on our things and go right 
to the Intelligence Office ! Hurry — hurry I Do — do ! 
No — uo ! We mustn't do that ! She ma}^ be around here 
3'et. It isn't safe to leave the house. She may carry off 
all the furniture j^et — who knows ? Oh, dear, dear ! What 
a fool I was ! Charles w^as right — yes. he was ! But, 
aunt — truly, truly — wasn't it a good party ? And wasn't 
it better than the Timmins's, or the Wiggins 's, or the 
Stubbs's ? 

Aunt N. [^testily.^ — How should I know, child, being as 
I wasn't at none of them ? lW7H7iging hands.'] My watch 
and chain ! Gone — all gone ! Oh dear, dear I 

Susan.- — But, aunt — now didn't Arabella and Lou, and 
a dozen others tell me so ? And didn't you hear them 
with your own ears ? Oh, aunt — aunt I But, dear me, 
that don't bring back the crockery — nor the silver — nor 
my locket — nor m.y grenadine — nor my sash 

Aunt N. — Nor my watch and chain — nor my silk — nor 
my bonnet — nor my portemonnaie I 

Susan. — What shall we — shall we — do 1 I will go at 
once to the store and tell Charles ! Why didn't I own up 
at breakfast ? But I couldn't believe it — I wouldn't I Oh 



104 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

dear I I was a fool — I am a fool — I alwa3^s have been a 
fool — I always shall be a fool — I never can be any thing 
but a fool I Oh dear, dear, dear I 

Chas. [^ente^Hng.] — Tut — tut — tut! What's that you 
say, Sue ? You a fool 1 Impossible I Even if you knew 
you were, you never would acknowledge it. 

Susan [throwing herself upon him and clinging to him']. 
— I am so glad — so sorry — so happy — so miserable — now 
that you have come ! You know all, don't you ? Come — 
there's a dear, good, nice, loving brother I Do tell ! You 
can help us, can't you ? Is any thing of yours gone ? 

Chas. — Wl\y, Sue, what does all this mean ? And 
you, too, aunt ? Are you crazy, both of you ? Sit down, 
Sue — sit down, both of you. [They comply.'] Let me 
understand vfhat you are at la any thing gone of mine ? 
I should think something of yours had gone, Sue — your 
wits ! Now be quick and talk to me. 

Susan [jumping up and ivalking the room]. — I can't — 
I can't — I can't ! Oh, aunt ! you tell ! Please do I I'm 
to be blamed ! I'm the fool — I'm the fool I 

Chas. — There it is again ! I'm ashamed of you, Sue ! 

Susan. — So am I, Charlie I I am ashamed of myself I 
Why did you let me ? You might have known better — 
you men — you business men, who know every thing I You 
might have told me — 3^ou might have told me I Oh; 
Charlie, Charlie ! [sobbing and gesticulating violently.] 

Chas. — Sue, I can have no patience with you. Aunt 
Nancy, if you have a particle of sense left, do compose 
yourself and tell me what all this means. 

Aunt N. — Charles, I always opposed it — you know I 
always did — always ! 

Susan. — Oh, aunt — aunt I 

Chas. — Opposed what, aunt ? 

Aunt N. — Why, the party — the dinner-party. 

Chas. — The party ? Why, didn't it go off admira- 
bly ? Both of you declared it did, over and over again, 
only last night. Didn't Sue say that it capped the 
Wiggins's and the Stiggins's and I don't know who elses? 

Susan. — Arabella and Lou and a dozen of them told 
me so with their own lips. 

Chas. — Well, it must be very difficult to please you I 
Aren't you delighted with your success ? Remember, 



EXCELSIOB DIALOGUES. 105 

Sue — you promised not to ask my consent for another. 
You'll keep to your word, won't you ? 

Susan. — As long as I live, Charlie — as long as I live I 

Chas. — The cooking was excellent, I don't remember 
eating a better served dinner. And then the 

Aunt N. — But, Charles — but 

Chas. — But what ? 

Susan, — Tell, aunt; tell him all — tell him all I He'll 
help us — he can — I know he will I I don't know any 
thing— not a thing ! 

Chas, — Well, aunt, I am waiting patiently. 

Aunt N. — That cook, you know, Charles, whom Susan 
hired 

Susan. — Aunt, yon liked her— you praised her — you 
told me to — you were with me when I engaged her. 

Aunt N. — That cook, Charles, went away last night 

Chas. — Without waiting for breakfast ? But you had 
paid her, hadn't you, Sue ? The poor woman has her 
money, I hope. She worked hard enough, I'm sure, to 
earn that pittance. Such a dinner ! [^smacking lips.'] 

Aunt N. [not appearing to notice what he says.'] — And 
has taken my watch and chain 

Susan. — And the crockery 

Aunt N. — My watered silk 

Susan. — The silver 

Aunt N. — My velvet bonnet 

Susan. — My locket 

Aunt N. — My portemonnaie 

Susan. — My best grenadine — my pink sash ! Oh, 
Charlie, Charlie ! I never will again — never while I live ! 
Do something for us, won't you ? Quick, or we are 
ruined I 

Chas. — You surprise me I That model of all the 
virtues 

Both. — Oh, Charles— Charles! 

Chas. — A moral and religious servant from a Re- 
formed Intelligence Office 

Both. — Don't — don't I 

Chas. —Recommended by the Mayor and City Coun- 
cil 1 It can't be I It is impossible I 

Both. — But it is — it is ! 

Susan. — She has gone I 

e2 



i06 EXCELSIOE DiALOGtJES. 

Aunt N. — And my wat — • 

Susan, — And my crock — 

Chas. — Did 3^ou save that ten dollars, Sue, from the 
expenses ? You know you thought you might. 

Susan [crying'].— Charlie, Charlie I why will you tease 
me so ? You know I know I was wrong — you are not 
kind — a brother would not treat me so I 

Chas. [going to her.'] — Sue, my only sister I I am 
Kind. You know I have ever been. I will not tease you. 
You are already sufficiently punished ; but you could 
have learned so well in no other way. Make yourself 
easy — every thing is safe ! 

Susan) r. . . . .7 -i (The crock — 

Abnt N.| L^Pr■^n9^n9uptoget7^er.:i JMy watered- 

Chas. — Ever}^ thing ; and Mrs. Moran — alias Fanny 
Maguire, a notorious house-thief -with her accomplices, 
is in a fair way to get her deserts. 

Susan. — Dear, kind, good, loving brother Charlie I [em- 
bracing.] Tell all about it. 

Aunt N. — Do tell us all about it I 

Chas. — Not now — wait till tea-time. I am in haste to 
return. I just ran in to relieve your minds. Enough 
to say now, that there is a prospect of justice getting the 
due of which it has long been defrauded. You remember 
that friend whom I introduced to you, Sue, just before 
dinner — and you showed so plainly so many times that 
3'ou disliked him ? Well, it is through his instrumentality 
that so favorable a conclusion has been reached. He is 
one of the best detectives in the city, and, what is more, a 
thoroughly honest man I understood their plot from the 
beginning, and made my arrangements accordingly. But 
it is time for me to leave. 

Aunt N. — Poor Mr. Schalk, Charles I He knew 
nothing of all this ! 

Chas. — The veriest scoundrel in the gang ! Luckily, 
after braving the law so long with impunity, he will meet 
a just fate ; that is, unless some Judge Partial interferes. 
Come, [taking each by hand and leading to front,] our 
friends here rmist by this time grant that even we men 
know something about Hiring Help 1 

[ Curtain falls.] 



fiXCELSiOIi DIALOGUES. 107 

THE OLD MAID. 

CHARACTERS. 

Miss Tabitha Flint, Dr. Thorntongrove. 

Miss Jennie Lee. Deacon White. 

Miss Anna Steele. 



Scene I. — A Country Sitting-room. The Three Ladies 
Sitting Conversing. 

Jennie. — Oh, it is so j^leasant this afternoon, aunt I 
May Anna and I go over to Thorntonville ? Anna has 
not been there yet and she goes home to-morrow. Anna, 
will you go ? 

Anna. — Yes, indeed, I will, if aunt Tabitha's willing I 

Tab. — What now are you plotting, girls? It seems 
to me, Jennie, you never are satisfied without you are 
gadding somewhere. 

Jennie. — Now, I am sure, aunt, we have not been out 
so often since cousin Anna came down. 

Tab. — Not been out often, indeed ! I don't know what 
you would call often, I'm sure. Haven't you been at two 
parties within the last week ? I'm sure / wouldn't like 
to be seen so much from home. 

Anna. — I suppose we don't go more frequently than 
you did when you were young. 

Tab. — When I was young, indeed ! when I was young ! 
If I am old, whom do you call young, I should like to 
know ? It's a strange thing to me as soon as little girls 
lay aside pantalettes they think all girls who are a year 
or so older than themselves old maids. 

Anna. — Now, aunt, that is too bad I But who is that 
driving up the avenue ? It's a splendid horse and wagon 1 

Tab. [^jumping up and looking.^ — That I Why, as I 
live, that is Dr. Thorntongrove. Anna, run quick and 
bring my other headdress and fine collar, or stay : I will 
go myself. Jennie, I forgot: didn't you say you wanted 



108 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

to go to Thornton ville ? Well, I do not know that J 
object. You may go. 

[Exit Tab. Enter Dr. T] 

Dr. T. — Good-afternoon, ladies ; I hope I find you well 
this afternoon. The weather is so fine I scarcelj^ hoped 
to find you in-doors. 

Jennie. — Anna and I were speaking of going over to 
Thornton ville, but we did not get started. 

Dr. — Well, it is not too late j'-et — that is, if you will 
allow me the pleasure of accompanying you. My wagon 
is at the door, but, unfortunately, I cannot oflfer a com- 
fortable seat for more than one. This is the disadvantage 
of falling-tops. To be candid, Miss Jennie, my object in 
calling was to invite you to take a ride. I supposed your 
cousin had returned home, as I understood at Pratt's the 
other evening that she did not intend to remain more 
than two da3^s longer at the most. 

Anna. — True, I had expected to take the cars for the 
city yesterday, but Jennie prevailed on me to remain 
until Wednesday, with the promise to accompany me as 
far as Philadelphia. 

Dr. — Indeed, I do not wonder, then, that you deferred 
your visit. 

Jennie. — Indeed, she needs your sympathy more than 
your compliments, for I assure you I am a perfect travel- 
ling nuisance. I have never been in the cars more than 
three times in my whole life, and I was then in a perfect 
fright. 

Dr. — Well, that whole life I should not think had been 
very long, and I can easily imagine what a perfect little 
fright you would be. But come, about this ride I Will 
you go, Jennie ? 

Jennie [hesitatingly']. — Not to-day. I don't think I can 
unless Anna could go too. 

Anna [^aside] — Oh, yes, you can, Jennie, there is noth- 
ing to hinder you. Indeed, I know you will enjoy the 
ride. Now do not let the thoughts of my remaining at 
home deter you from going. You know I shall have 
plenty of amusement in teazing Aunt Tabitha. Oh, just 
go, it will be so much fun. I shall get along nicely. I 
have letters to write ; so just say yes, and go make prep- 
erations, or I will answer for you. \_To Dr. T] Yes, 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 109 

Dr. Thorton grove, Miss Jennie Lee will be happy to 
accompany you. 

Jennie. — Well, really, Anna, you are very decided. 
You are always determined to have your own way, so I 
may as well submit with a good grace, [riioving to the door.'] 

Anna \_aside'\. — Won't Aunt Tabitha be raving though? 
She told you, you might go, and all she wanted was to 
have us out of the way. [_Exit Jennie,'] 

Dr. — Where was it you said your home was, Miss 
4nna ? You told me, I think, the other evening, but I 
io not recollect. Are you and Jennie cousins ? 

Anna. — Yes, our mothers were sisters. We have been 
very little together. I have always lived in Pittsburg, 
the city of smoke, as it is not inappropriately called. It 
seems like living in perpetual sunlight to be in this part 
of the country ; still it is not home, though the sky does 
look brighter. Poor Jennie I I have been trying to coax 
her to go all the waj^ home with me. 

Dr. — Why do you say poor Jennie, with such a sigh? 
Is she not happy ? 

Anna. — Oh, yes, she is happy ; her sweet disposition 
prevents her from being any thing else but happy ; but 
her aunt is very exacting, you know. Jennie lost her 
parents when quite young, and Aunt Tabitha has supplied 
a mother's place to her since then, and though in reality 
she intends to be very kind, still her disposition, which 
has grown somewhat soured through disappointment, 
makes her very hard to please, and I often wonder how 
Jennie can bear with her as well as she does. I am sure 
I could not, but I do delight in tormenting her. 

Dr. — Well, I really entertained no such idea. I thought 
Tabitha very amiable. 

\_Enter Tabitha.] 

Tab, — Well, Doctor, how do you do ! this is a pleasure, 
indeed. Why, I began to think you had forsaken us en- 
tirely : you have been away so long. 

Dr. — It was only a week ago to-day I spent the after- 
noon here, and I called one evening since to accompany 
the ladies to Pratt's. I am sure I feel flattered by your 
kindness- Here comes Jennie. Are you quite ready, 
Jennie ? 

Jennie. — Yes, sir. 



110 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Tab. — Quite ready for what ? Why, Jennie dear, you 
are not going to act so unladylike as to go to Thornton- 
ville without your cousin, are you? Indeed, I will not 
allow it. Anna, go immediately and get ready — the Doctor 
will excuse 3^ou. [To Dr. T.] Little girls will be little 
girls even after they reach a womanly height. I really 
sometimes despair of ever seeing our Jennie act with 
a womanly thoughtfulness, but she is yet very young. 
[^Doctor rises and looks out towards his wagon.'] 

Tab. — Well, I declare, if that isn't too bad I John has 
never seen to having that horse stabled. Anna, as you 
go for your bonnet, step to the back-door and tell him to 
come instantly and take the Doctor's horse. 

Dr. — Oh, no, Miss Flint, I thank you, I am going 

Tab. — Going now? l^o, indeed. Doctor, I cannot think 

of 3^our going until after tea 1 Do have your horse 

[interrupted. ] 

Anna. — Oh, yes, aunt, they will be back to tea. Will 
you not, Doctor? 

Dr. — It is quite probable. 

Anna. — I see, aunt, you do not comprehend. The 
Doctor called to take Jennie out driving in that new 
buggy of his ; so I believe they are going to Thornton- 
ville. [Z>r. T. and Jennie moving off.] 

Tab. — Going to Thorntonville 1 The very place I was 
talking of going to I wanted to make some purchases 
at the store — \aloud. Doctor spluttering to the door] — 
Doctor, if it would not be inconvenient to you, I 

Dr. — Not in the least. We can call and Jennie can 
get what you wish. 

Tab. — Jennie purchase any thing 1 Why, law, Doctor, 
I should never think of trusting to that child's judgment. 
There is nothing to prevent me from accompanying you. 
Anna will superintend and have tea on the table by the 
time we return. 

Dr. — There is nothing to prevent but this : my buggy 
accommodates but two, or I should have invited Miss 
Anna to accompany us. 

Tab. — Oh, trust to a woman^s wit to remedy that. Our 
carriage horses are idle. We can all go in our carriage. 

Dr. — I fear that arrangement would make us entirely 
too late. [Exit Dr. T. and Jennie.] 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. Ill 

Tab — Well, if that isn't impudence personified ! Who 
ever saw any thing like it. He just walks off with that 
child and from right under my nose too, just as if he had 
some authority. Who ever would ha^^e thought of a 
widower of his age wanting to ride out with a child like 
Jennie, and only think his wife has been dead so short a 
time I I declare I never saw the like of it. 

Anna. — Why, aunt, I think he said the other evening 
that it was near'y, if not quite, two j^ears since she died. 
Tab. — Two years, indeed 1 Well, I don't know what 
lady who thought any thing of herself would want to be 
seen in company with a man that soon after his wife's 
death. People might say, with some reason to, that she 
was wanting to get married pretty badly 

Anna — Well, I'm sure I would not object to have my 
name mentioned in connection with the Dr. 'sin that light 
any time, for I think he is perfectly splendid, and if I was 
in Jennie's place, it would not take me long to say, Yes, 
to a certain proposal I think he is likely to make to her 
shortly. 

Tab. — What I What did you say, Anna Steele ? I 
think it is nearlj'^ time for you to go home. I expect j^ou 
will have Jennie's head stuffed as full of nonsense as j^our 
own. Dr. Thorntongrove marr}^ Jennie Lee I Marry 
that child ! Anna Steele, you talk like one who does not 
possfess good common-sense. 

Anna. — Well, maybe I have not, but it seems to me I 
have sense enough to see that Miss Tabitha Flint would 
like to have the chance of lengthening her name to Thorn- 
tongrove. 

Tab. — Anna Steele, if any thing was wanting to confirm 
your silliness, that last remark would do it ; how dare jon 
even hint at such a thing to me I Now, Miss Steele, I want 
you to understand, while jon are here under this roof, 
that I will hear no more such talk as this ; and mind, dare 
you to mention such a thing to Jennie as Dr. Thornton- 
grove making her his wife at your peril. Dr. Thornton- 
grove's wife, indeed ! Preposterous ! 

Anna. — Well, I should like to know what he comes here 
for, if she is not the attraction ? 

Tab. — Jennie the attraction! I suppose there are more 
than her about the house. 

10 600 



112 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Anna — Well, then, I suppose lie comes to see you, 
aunt ; no wonder he said to me to-day that he thought 
you very amiable. 

Tab. — Did he say that ? Did Dr. Thorntongrove say 
that? Well, I am sure it was very complimentary. 
lCoaxingly.2 How came he to say it? But then he 
never had cause to say otherwise I How came he to say 
that ? Was he talking about me ? Do tell me what was 
said? 

Anna. — Oh, he said so much, aunt, I can't remember. 

Tab. — Did he ask for me when he first came ? I expect 
he did, though. I wish I had not left the room. 

Anna — Well, you know, aunt, they will soon return. 

Tab. — So he will ; and that reminds me that I must go 
and have a nice dish of tea ready. \^Exit Tabitha.'] 

Anna [^soliloquizing^. — Humm — me I she thinks I lack 
good common-sense ; well, if I acted as silly as she does, 
I should not doubt it. The old dunce — any one could see 
she is setting her cap for the Doctor, red ribbons and all. 
Won't there be a fussing time about tea ? 
[Enter Tabitha.'] 

Tab. — Yonder comes old Deacon White up the road. 
I don't see what the misery he is coming here for. I am 
sure no one wants to see him. 

Anna.— Comiug to see you, no doubt ! 

Tab. — Coming to see me! That is likety, indeed! He 
had better think about seeing his grave, the old dunce I 
Why he must be fifty. 

Anna. — And how old are you, aunt ? 

Tab. — How old am I, Miss Impudence? How old 
would you suppose me to be ? 

Anna. — Oh, I should think you — are — forty — five. 

Tab. — F-o-r-t-y-five ! out-rageous I Well, Anna, I know 
you have no more judgment than a child of ten; if you 

had said twenty-five 

[Enter Deacon."] 

Deacon. — Well, Tabitha, how is your health to-day ? 

Tab. — Oh, it's very good, thank you. Deacon. Will you 
be seated ? Anna, place that cushioned chair here for the 
Deacon. 

Dea. — We have very fine weather now. 

Tab. — Yes, very fine. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. ' ^4 

Dea. — The Lord has seen fit to bless our land with a 
plentiful harvest, and is now promising a glorious seed- 
time ; we should be very thankful for so many blessings. 

Tab. — Yie should, indeed, and yet how many ungrate- 
ful ones there are around us who never give a thought of 
the great Giver of all this good. 

Dea. — I am satisfied, Tabitha, that you are not one of 
the number. 

Tab. — I trust. Deacon, I am not. The spiritual welfare, 
Deacon, the spiritual welfare — I have always endeavored 
to make it the first object in life. 

Anna ^aside, grimacing^. — Getting married excepted. 

Dea. — Ah, yes, Tabitha, no one would doubt that, I am 
sure. 

Tab. — I hope not, Deacon ; your dear deceased wife 
was, 3^ou know, a very dear friend of mine, and I always 
endeavored to be worthy of that title while she lived, for 
I alwa3^s thought, one on whom she would bestow her 
regard must necessarily be very good. 

Anna l^aside']. — I wonder if that is not what the Yankee 
would call saft sodder. 

Tab. — But, my Anna, it is almost time for them to be 
back. I wish you would see to arranging the tea-table, 
and the Deacon and I will go out and look at the flowers. 
Deacon, I liave an oleander in full bloom ; it is very beau- 
tiful ; would you not like to go look at it ? 

Dea. [rising.'] — I certainly shall be pleased to do so 
lUxit] 

[ Tabitha lingers to speak to Anna.] 

Tab. — Now be sure, Anna, put on the best china, and 
have every thing in print. I will be in again in a few 
minutes. 

[Curtain falls.] 

Scene II. — Table set — j^nna arranging it — Enter Tab, 

Anna. — What have you done with the Deacon, aunt? 

Tab. — He sat down on the piazza to enjoy the sunset, 
he said. * 

Anna. — And I am sure he would have enjoyed it much 
better if you had remained. I can do very well. 

Tab. — Remained ? fiddle-de-dee 1 I didn't want to sit 



lii EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

out there with hun. I thought when I got him started 
out he would go home ; but do hurry — there comes the 
Doctor and Jennie. \_Enter Dr. T. and Jennie.'] Well, 
3^c'd are just in time — we have tea all ready. Jennie, 
hurry lay aside your bonnet. 

Anna. — Tea is ready. 

Tab. — Be seated, Doctor; hurry, Jennie. Anna, do 
tell the Deacon to come in to tea. \_Addressmg Dr. T.] 
Old Deacon White came just after you left. What a 
sanctified old dunce he is ! 

Dr. — Why, Miss Tabitha, you should not talk that 
way ; he will be looking out for another wife one of these 
days. 

Tab- — Indeed he need not look this way ; I would as 
soon think of marrying my grandfather. 

Dr. [^iaughing.'] — I don't know al^out that. 

Tab. — Now, Doctor, you do know — beg your pardon. 
\_Enter DS\ Deacon, take that seat — Anna, you take 
this one. 

\^A pause — servant passes the tea.] 

Tab. — ISTow do reach to and help yourselves. Doctor, 
let me help you to some of this chicken salad. I assure 
you it is very nice. I prepared it with my own hands. 
Anna, pass the bread — now do help yourselves. Doctor, 
here is sausage — do try some, it is some of my own curing. 
I never can eat the Bologna sausage we buy. Now isn't 
it nice ? 

Dr. — Yes, thank you, it is very good. 

Anna. — Deacon, you try some of it. I assure you, 
A.unt Tabitha makes an excellent housekeeper; if you 
need one, maybe you can secure her services. 

Tab. [s/iarp?i/.] — Anna ! 

Dea. — Indeed, Anna, if I could I should feel as if the 
Lord had blessed me tenfold : she is so much like my 
dear departed wife. 

Dr. — I should think Miss Tabitha a much younger 
lady. 

Tab. — Oh, yes ; quite a number of years. 

Dea. — Not a great number. Had she lived, she would 
have been forty-eight last Christmas, and you, Tabitha, 
were only about five years younger. 

Tab. — You are very much mistaken, Deacon. But 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 115 

yoirr late wife was very amiable, and I cultivated her friend' 
8hip because, being much older, her experience in life 
rendered her an invaluable friend. It was not because 
we were so near the same age that we were so intimate. 

I doubt not she was old enough to be my Anna, pass 

round the chicken salad. Doctor, won't j^ou let me 
help you to something more ? Do drink another cup of 
tea. Was your last one palatable ? 

Dr. — Yes, thank you, it was A'ery good. 

Jennie. — Aunt, perhaps the Deacon will have som« 
nore. 

Deacon. — Not s^ny more, thank j^ou. I declare I am 
perfectly satisfied that the man who secures Tabitha for 
housekeeper will receive a gift from the Lord. 

Dr. — I have been thinking of setting up an establish- 
ment mj^self I think it would be well for me to look in 
this quarter mj^self, \_glancing from Jennie to Anna.'\ 

Tab. — Indeed, Doctor, you are very flattering, I am 
sure. I — I 

Anna. — Well, aunt, Jennie and I are here. If j^ou do 
not wish the situation ma}' be he will look in our direc- 
tion. Jennie, I am sure, made this bread and butter with 
her own hands, and that cake the Doctor was praising, 
you know, I made. 

Tab \_rising.~\ — Anna, do you know that self-praise is 
no recommendation. Doctor, do come out and see my 
flowers. Jennie, you and Anna entertain the Deacon. 
\_Turning to him.^ You will excuse me, Deacon. You 
have already seen them. 

Anna. — Yes, aunt, you were out when the Deacon was; 
you might let Jennie and me go now. Will you accept 
our compan}^ Doctor ? 

Dr. — Certainly, with pleasure ! Miss Tabitha, I have 
something particular for 3'our private ear, but never mind 
now — don't forget. [_Exit Dr. T., Aima and Jennie.'] 

Tab. — I think I never saw Anna Steele's match. She 
has the tact of doing ever}^ thing as she pleases. 

Dea. — A very bright little girl, that ! 

Tab. — Yes, she is bright with impertinence. I shall 
be glad when she is gone home. She has alwaj^s a word 
about something. \_Deacon drawing his chair near Ta- 
bitha.'] 



116 EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 

Dea. — Yes, those words she said to-night were well 
eaid. It does seem as if the Lord had a hand in the 
matter and put it into her mouth to open the way. 

Tab. — Oh, nonsense! nonsense! nothing but nonsense ! 

Dea. — I believe the Lord has revealed it to my mind 
that you are to be a second wife to me. Will you be 
willing? [^Taking her hand.'] Dear Tabitha, will you 
answer me? 

Tab. — Indeed, Deacon, your proposal surprises me. I 
had never thought of the possibility of such an event. 

Dea. — And yet such an event is possible. My dear 
departed wife, I am sure, would have sanctioned my pro- 
posal, and if her spirit has the power to leave Paradise, 
no doubt it is at this moment hovering near us. 

Tab. — And do you believe, Deacon,, that spirits have 
the power to leave the realms of the blest to guard over 
us poor mortals of earth ? 

Dea. — I sometimes feel that such is the fact; but, Ta- 
bitha dear, you have not replied to my question. 

Tab. — Oh, law I I do not know what to say. I am 
sure I have always had the care of Jennie, and I do not 
see how she is going to get along without me. 

Dea. — Oh. Jennie is old enough to take care of herself 
or take a husband to do it. That objection is easily over- 
ruled. Come, now : make up your mind to say Yes. 

Tab. — Indeed, Deacon, I don't think I can. I must 
have some time to think about it. 

Dea.— How long will it take you to think, and will you 
think Yes when that time expires ? \_Approaching steps. 
Tabitha gives her head a sho7^t quick nod, and the Deacon 
moves his chair to a distance, rising, proposes to depart. 
Exit Deacon as Anna enters.] 

Anna. — I'm sure, aunt, jou need not have left me dis- 
turb you. I declare you make a right cosy couple seated 
together. 

Tab. — Anna, you really have a tongue that can say 
almost any thing. I'm ashamed of you. 

Anna. — Why, I didn't say any thing wrong, did I, 
aunt ? I was just out there, and I could not help seeing 
the Deacon raise your hand to his lips, and I could not 
help his speaking so loud when he popped the question. 

Tab. — And was the Doctor out there too, and did he 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 117 

hear what was said? Anna, do you hear me: was the 
Doctor there ? 

Anna. — And what if he was, aunt ? There was no harm 
done, was there ? 

Tab.— Oh, dear, [jpacing the Jloo7%2 and the Doctor 
heard all that was said ? 

Anna. — Said! What about? 

Tab. — Why, what the Deacon said about us getting 
married. 

Anna. — Ah, ha, ha, ha, ho, ho ! 

Tab. — Anna ! Anna ! What's the matter ? 

Anna. — What's the matter I Why, the Deacon's pro- 
posed I Ha— ha ! 

Tab. — Anna, you're simple : did you not just tell me 
you heard him ? 

Anna. — Why, no I I only said I could not help his 
speaking so loud when he popped the question. I did 
not say I heard him, now, did I ? Ha, ha I I can't help 
laughing^ it's so funny. I expect 3^ou said no, did you, 
aunt, for his wife, you know, has not been dead over a 
year, and 3^ou said to-day you would not have a widower 
of two 3'ears' standing, didn't 3'ou? 

Tab. — Well, what if I did I I think I am at liberty to 
say what I please. 

Anna. — Ha I ha ! It's so funny I I do wish the Doctor 
and Jennie would come in ! I must tell them. 

Tab. — Yes, Anna Steele, you tell them at jour peril 
Thank the goodness you go home to-morrow. I declare 
if you were going to be here much longer I should go 
crazy or die. 

Anna. — Oh, my ! aunt, you must not think of such a 
thing as doing either. Why it would break the Deacon's 
heart. 

Tab. — Break the Deacon's fiddlesticks. 

Anna [throiuing up her hand in amazement']. — Break 
the Deacon's fiddlesticks ! Well, who would have thought 
ene who was so sanctified as the Deacon would liave 
musical instruments, and a violin at that ! Now if it had 
been an organ 

Tab. — I declare, Anna there is no living with you. 
Where is the Doctor and Jennie ? 

Anna. — I left them out on the lawn. I thought two was 



118 EXCELSIOB DIALOGUES. 

company and three was none, as the old proverb goes 
I did not think I should disturb a tete-a-tete inside. 
Somehow it seems I'm in the way everywhere. It's 
queer no one proposes to me 1 

Tab.— The Lord help the man who gets you ; but I 
shall go and call Jennie to come in ; she will catch cold. 

Anna [^soliloquizing']. — She is dreadfully worried about 
Jennie catching cold all at once. [Enter Aunt, Jennie, 
and the Doctor.'] Well, aunt, 3^ou found them, did you ? 

Tab. — Oh, yes ; I have just been reading the Doctor a 
lecture for allowing Jennie to detain him out so long — 
there is quite a heavy dew falling. 

Dr. — I did not notice it was getting damp. 

Tab. — Anna has been in for some time. 

Anna. — Yes ; I feared aunt would need me to help en- 
tertain the Deacon, but when I came in 

Tab. — Anna, have you made all preparations necessary 
for going home in the morniug ? Mind, 3'ou will have to 
start early. Jennie, I have been thinking that as Anna 
wishes you to accompany her home, you may as well go. 
The preparation jow. have made to go to the city will be 
sufficient ; perhaps you had better take a few more 
clothes — you can get them ready — the Doctor will excuse 
you. 

Jennie. — I think I would rather not go, aunt. 

Tab. — Not go I I thought you wished to go. 

Jennie. — So I did, but 

Tab.— But what ? 

Anna. — Why, she is afraid she will not be here to attend 
the Deacon's wedding. 

Tab. — Anna, I wish you and Jennie would go at my 
bidding. 

Dr. — Yes, go ; and I hope, if I can win Tabitha's con- 
sent, to summon you to attend my wedding shortly. 

Anna. — Good ; if there is a wedding on the carpet I 
want to be on hand. Aunt Tabitha, be sure and give 
your consent, and let me be bridesmaid. [Girls going to 
the door,] We'll see you again, Doctor, before you go. 

[Exit.] 

Tab. — Are you in earnest, Doctor ? Do you really con- 
template marriage ? 



ElCELSIOS DIALOGUES. 110 

Dr. — I do, indeed ; and you, Miss Tabitlia, have it in 
your power to make me the happiest of mortals ! 

Tab. — I have the power? Indeed, Doctor, this is quite 
unexpected ; you have never given me any reason to sup- 
pose you had any preference. 

Dr. — And do you think one could frequent this house, 
as I have done for the last six months, and his heart re- 
main invulnerable to so much beauty and goodness ? 

Tab. — I have only been conscious of having done my 
duty. Do you know j^our words are very flattering ? 

Dr — No flattery, Miss Tabitha. I never was more in 
earnest in my life. I believe my love is reciprocated — 
nay, I am sure, and it only remains for your consent to 
call the dear treasure mine. 

Tab. [_affected.'\ — I cannot find it in my heart to say 
nay — but Jennie 

Dr. — I know, Tabitha, she must be very dear to you, 
occupying a mother's place as you have since infancy ; 
but believe me, I will cherish her as never wife was 
cherished. 

Tab. \_surprised.'\ — Cherish her as wife I What mean 
you? 

Dr. — Why, I mean, with your consent, to marry Jennie, 
certainly. 

Tab. — Marry Jennie ? Marry Jennie Lee ? 

Dr. — Yes, certainly ; is there any thing A^er}'' strange 
in the sound ? You certainly didn't think it was Anna I 
meant, [_d7^ awing Ms hand over his whiskers and smiling.^ 

Tab. — No matter what I thought. I suppose you must 
have her. It's strange to me, a man of your age should 
want to marrjT" such a mere child. 

Dr. — Of my age, Miss Tabitha I why, I have not 
reached the shady side of thirty I 

Tab. — Hem-m-m . 

Dr. — I do not know how to sufficiently thank you foi 
the inestimable treasure you have bestowed upon me 
believe me, my sole object will be to make her life happy. 
[Tab. raises her handkerchief to her eyes. Enter Anna.'] 

Anna. — Well, Doctor, have you won aunt's consent, 
and am I to be bridesmaid ? 

Dr.— You will have to talk to Jennie about the brides- 
maid arrangement. 

10* 600* 



120 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Anna. — Talk to Jennie ? now, Aunt Tabitha, jou did 
not let Jennie 

Tab. — Anna, have you completed your preparations ? ' 
Where is Jennie ? 

Anna. — Up-stairs ; shall I tell her to come down ? 

Tab. — Yes, go. [Eocit Anna.} 

Dr. — And how about the Deacon, Tabitha? Report 
gays he walks up the road this way quite frequently. 

Tab. — I wish peo^^le would attend to their own busi 
ness. 

Dr. — Oh I I beg your pardon. 

\_Enter Jennie and Anna."] 

Dr. — Well, ladies, I suppose you are quite ready for 
your i^roposed journey? 

Jennie-. — Yes, but I half regret that I gave my consent 
to go : it is so far. 

Anna. — Not any farther for you than for me. 

Jennie. — Oh, yes, it is. You have been over the road 
so often. 

Anna. — And is the length of the road the* only reason? 
eh? 

Dr. — Anna, I think you might have extended your in- 
vitation to me. I should like to accompany you. 

Anna. — Well, will 3- ou go, Doctor ? Under existing cir- 
cumstances, I suppose there is no impropriety in inviting 
you, and we should be very glad to have your company. 

Dr. — There is nothing to prevent my going ; so I shall 
accept your invitation promptly, and be very happy to 
accompany you. 

Tab. — It would be very useless for you to say nay to 
Anna : she would have her way afterwards. 

Dr. — But if I have a journey before me in the morning, 
it is fully time I was turning my face homewards — the 
cars reach the depot at eight, don't they ? Well, I shall 
be here by half-past seven. Will that do ? 

Anna. — Certainly. I am so glad you are going. I do 
not like to ride on the cars, without an escort. 

Tab. — Well, I do wonder you travel so much alone then. 
One who has the tact of doing just as she pleases need 
never go alone. 

Dr. Irising.^ — I expect you will miss your nieces very 
much. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 121 

Tab. — Miss them ! I shall be glad when Anna's gone, 
for she puts more mischief in Jennie's head than is there, 
and that is needless. 

Anna. — Now, you know j^ou are sorry I am going, aunt. 
You will have no one to talk to you about the Deacon. 

Tab. — And if I cannot have some one more respectful 
to me than you, I had better be alone. 

Anna. — No danger of your being alone, for the Deacon 
will walk over about every other day. 

Dr. — No doubt, no doubt of it, Anna. But really, I 
must say good-night. I shall see you in the morning. 
{_Exit, bowing.'] 

Tab. — Well, Jennie, I hope you are at rest, as every 
thing is favorable for having your fate linked with that 
conceited flirt of a Doctor. 

Anna. — Why, la I aunt, I thought you considered him 
perfection, but I suppose circumstances alter cases. Dr. 
Thorntongrove, the widower, and Dr. Thorntongrove, 
married, will of course be very different ; never mind, the 
Deacon's left. Come, Jennie, let's retire. Good-night, 
Aunt Tabitha I Good-night I 

\_Exit Anna and Jennie.] 

Tab. [^soliloquizing.] — Well, who can tell what will hap- 
pen ! I am sure I cannot. I should never have thought 
of the Doctor marrying Jennie, but I suppose I must make 
the best of it. I might do worse than marry the Deacon. 
He has a nice home, and maybe he won't live long, and 
rich widows always get along better than old maids. So, 
Tabitha, I think the best thing you can do is to take the 
Deacon. But, Anna Steele, you need not exult in the 
anticipation of being bridesmaid, for I shall hurry oS the 
wedding before any of you are any the wiser. So here's 
to bed. lSta7^ts.] 

[Curtain falls.] 




122 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



AN HOUR IN SCHOOL. 

CHARACTERS. 
Socrates Shorter, teacher. 

Mr. Williams, ) ccp„trnn<;'' 

Mrs. Meglathery, f i'atrons. 
Mrs. Nye, visitor. 
Ottiwell Wood. 
Richard Williams, \ 
Roger Brown, 1 

John Fogy, j 

Jane Todd, \ p .. 

Nancy Jones, / ^"P'^^' 

Betsy Day, 
Margaret Irving, 
Susan White, 

Other pupils, ad libitum. 



Scene I. — School-room — Furniture^ Iffc, 

Mr. Shorter [pupils humming and buzzing as if study- 
ing aloud']. — Less noise in the room, I say I \_Rapping 
on desk.] I expect somebody in to see you soon, and I 
want you to keep as still as you can. \_Momenta7^y lull 
— noise soon resumed.] That boy there \_pointing] who 
came in this morning, come up to the desk I [Pupils look 
at boy — those near him punching him to go.] You needn't 
be afraid, my little man, I'm not going to hurt you. I 
only want to enter your name in the Register. [Laughter 
— boy comes up hesitatingly.] What is your name, my 
boy? 

Boy. — Ottiwell Wood, sir. 

Shorter. — What ? I didn't understand you. 

Boy. — Ottiwell Wood, sir. 

Shorter. — I can't make it out. Can't you spell it for 
me? [Scholars staring, and laughing, and talking.] 

Boy. — 0-double t-i-double u-e-doublel — Double u-double 
o-dl [Very fast.] 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 123 

Shorter. — I don't know a word you say. [To the 
school.^ Don't any of you know this boy's name ? [ Cries 
of ''Yes "— " Yes "— " I do "— " Ottiwell Wood "—" Otti- 
well Wood."] [(7^W comes to desk bringing slate.'} 

Girl. — Please, Mr. Shorter, here's Ottiwell's name 
wrote on my slate. 

Shorter llooking]. — Oh, yes I I see now. [Entering 
name.} Ottiwell, you may take your seat. Try and be 
a good boy — won't you — and set an example to the rest. 
I'll show you about your lessons after school. l^Bapping.} 
Less noise there — will you? I can't hear myself think. 
I tell you I'm expecting a visitor every minute. [Lull, 
(&c., as before.} Now do keep still enough for me to set 
you some copies ! [Slight calm, and Shorter begins writing. 
The noise soon resumed and various irregularities — leaving 
seats — pulling hair — snapping spit-balls — snatching slates, 
&c., &G.} Can't you keep stiller? I am ashamed of you I 
If you don't make less noise, I won't give you any recess 
to-morrow morning I ["JEfe only makes believe. He wonH 
do ^Y."] Who was that that spoke then ? [Scholars 
point to a boy.} Was it you, Richard Williams ? 
Richard. — I didn't say nothing, sir — I didn't. 
Several Scholars. — Oh I 

Girl [raising hand}. — Please, Mr. Shorter, he's telling 
a big story I He did say so. I heard him. 
Several. — ** Me too " — " Me too 1" 
Shorter. — Richard, take your book and stand up in 
that corner I I'll attend to you after school. [Richard 
moves very slowly to corner, making grimaces when Shorter 
is not looking and continues so while at his post. } 

Scholar [looking out at window}. — Mr. Shorter, some- 
body's coming I 

Shorter. — Take your books, all of you. Attention I 
Now keep quiet — will you ? [Several rise in seats, and 
look out at windoio. Rap at door. Opening door.} Good- 
morning, madam I Walk in I [Enter woman pulling a 
hoy after her.} 

Woman.— Mornin', master I I've fetched this boy along 
with me to have him go to school to you. 
Shorter. — What is his name ? 

Woman. — Michael Meglathery, master, and I'm his own 
mother. [Laughter.} 



124: EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Shorter. — Silence ! I'm ashamed of you ! 

Mrs. M. — Oh, let 'em laugh I Nobody cares for the 
like of yez ! [ Turning to scholars.'] Master, you must 
be tender with Michael. He isn't all here I \_putting her 
hand to forehead.] 

Shorter.^ — I'll take good care of him, Mrs. Meglathery. 
Won't you take a seat ? 

Mrs. M. — Thank you kindly, master, but I've me clothes 
to bring in. Mornin', master. 

Shorter. — Good-morning. [^Conducts Michael to a seat. 
While so engaged Richard steals from his corner near 
the desh and upsets the ink-bottle upon the copy-books. 
Giggling fi^om scholars ivho observe it.] I never saw such 
a set to laugh ! You laugh at just nothing at all I Can't 
a new scholar come to school and take his seat without 
all of you setting up a silly laugh ? Attend to your les- 
sons, every one of you! [^Knock.] Hush I [Opening 
door.] Walk in, Mrs. Nye I Walk in I Glad to see 
you 1 Began to think you might disappoint us after all I 
Take a seat, ma'am I 

Mrs. Nye lseati7ig herself]. — A fine lot of scholars you 
have here, Mr, Shorter ! They look very bright and in- 
telligent. [Scholars smile and look at one another.] 

Shorter [simpering]. — Yes, ma'am — they're good boys 
and girls — most of 'em — little mischievous sometimes — 
but we must look for that once in a while. Yes [stroking 
chill and looking at scholars], they're mostly very good, 
ma'am ! V/ould you like to examine their writing, ma'am ? 
[Going to desk discovers the ink-stains — embarrassed, takes 
out handkerchief to wipe them away.] I was careless 
enough to upset the ink. Excuse me a moment, ma'am I 

Several. — Dick Williams did it ! Dick Williams did it I 

One. — I seed him I 

Another. — So did 1 1 When you were up here with 
Michael Meglathery. [Great confusion, which Shorter 
attempts to still. In the excitement wipes his face with 
the handkerchief when the entire school hurst into loud 
laughter.] 

Shorter [discovering it]. — I will return in a moment, 
ma'am. Silence ! silence ! Dick Williams [who has stolen 
to his seat], take jour books and march home I I'll settle 
with your father for this. [Goes out. Scholars in up 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 125 

roar. 3Irs. Nye uncomfortable. Dick leaves. Books 
'Jirown after him as he goes.^ That boy [^reiurning^ is 
the worst boy in school, Mrs. Nye I I've had more 
trouble with him than with all the rest put together. 
You mustn't judge all of them by him. 

Mrs. N. — I've heard of him before, Mr. Shorter. 

Girl \_raising hand}. — Please, Mr. Shorter, Dick Wil- 
liams said just now, when 3^ou were gone out to wash 
your face, that his father would lick you if you sent him 
home. Didn't he, Susan ? \_To another.'] 

Susan. — Yes, he did. I heard him. 

Shorter. — Silence! Attention! Take your books all 
of you, except the first class in Mental Arithmetic. That 
class may come up when I give the word- [ Waits a mo- 
ment.'] Ready! \_Again.] Places! [Glass rushes up pi o- 
miscuously, jostling and pushing after they are on the 
floor, standing with hands hack of them, pulling and 
twitching one another — generally ii^regular.] First class 
in Mental Arithmetic, ma'am ! Now stand up straight 
and answer just as well as you can I Attention all ! " If 
three peaches cost as much as six apples, how many 
apples will buy four peaches !" Hands up, those who can 
do it ! \_Several up.] John, you maj- do it ! Speak up 
loud! 

John.— Twelve peaches, \_Snap'ping of fingers on the 
part of several members.] 

Shorter [^shaking head]. — Nancy Jones, you may re- 
peat the question and go through with it. 

Nancy [hanging down her head]. — I've forgot it. 

Shorter. — Have all of you forgotten it ? Give close 
attention while I put it out again. [Repeats — scholars 
have been going out during the exercise — noise outside.] 
Now, Jane, go through with it ! 

Jane. — " If three apples cost as much as" 

Shorter. — Begin again — that isn't quite right I 

Jane. — "If three peaches cost as much" 

Shorter. — That's right — go on ! 

Jane. — " Cost as much as four apples" 

Shorter. — Not quite ! 

Jane. — "Cost as much as six peaches" — [Shorter 
shakes his head] — "six apples" — [Shorter nods approval^ 
— •" what will three apples cost ?" 



126 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Shorter. — No — no — no I You had it almost right; 
Try it again I 

Jane — Those boys make such a noise out-doors that 1 
can't keep it in my mind. 

Shorter. — Thomas, tell those boys to come straight 
into school I [ Thomas goes out.~\ Once more now, class. 
Think hard and you'll bring it ! {^Repeats — and after 
several ineffectual attempts, a pupil gets through, with 
Shorter'' s assistance.^ 

Mrs. N. — Yery well done — very well done. I couldn't 
have done it myself. 

[^Another question is given — door opens suddenly — Mr. 
Williams comes in with Richard. "] 

Mr. W. — Go to your seat, Dick, and behave yourself. 
And if you \_shahing his fist in Shorter^ fo^ce'] have the 
impudence to send my boy home again for nothing at all, 
I'll flog you for it. {^Great confusion — scholars leave seats 
and go towards desk — class broken up — boys form outside, 
peeping in at door — 31rs. N. at a loss what to do."] 

Shorter. — Kichard had done something — he upset the 
ink on my desk. 

Mr. W. — That's a lie ! Dick says he didn't — and I'd 
take his word against anybody's in this school. \_Scholars 
look at each other. '\ My boy has been imposed on long 
enough, and I won't put up with it any longer. If he mis- 
behaves himself I want him flogged soundly — but I won't 
have him sent home for nothing. Mind that ! 

Shorter. — We can't talk here, Mr. Williams. I'll caU 
and see you to-night as I go home. 

Mr. W. — You'd better. I can break your school up as 
easy as turn over my hand. [^Going."] Now, you. Dick! If 
I know of any of your cuttings up, I'll cut you up so j^ou'll 
remember it as long as you live 1 Do you hear? \_Exit.'\ 

Mrs. N. — Mr. Williams is a very singular man ! 

Shorter. — Too much so for a teacher's comfort. I'm 
glad, for my part, that he isn't plural! [^Slight laughter — 
school gradually becomes tolerably quiet.'} Lay aside your 
books, now ! [Great clattering and disturbance,'] We'll 
have some declamation and composition, now I Silence ! 
— Roger Brown I 

\_Roger comes forward, and after a very awkward bow, 
delivers himself of a declamation in a bungling, incoherent 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 127 

manner, requiring the constant prompting of a scholar 
from the book. After the performance the school applaud 
by stamping of feet. 2 

Shorter. — No applause there I Cease at once I I've told 
you, time and time again, that you must not applaud or hiss. 
[ Turning to Mrs. iV.] It is strictly against the rules of 
the school, Mrs. Nye. If I should permit it, there's no 
knowing where it would end. It would throw the school 
into such disorder that we couldn't do a thing. And, if 
there is any thing which I am determined to have in my 
school, it is good order — good order. 

Mrs. N. — Your rule is an excellent one, Mr. Shorter; 
but it must be hard for the scholars, when a boy has 
spoken his piece as well as that lad did, not to show their 
feelings in some way. 

Shorter. — Yes, ma'am — but they can manifest it by 
their looks. 

Mrs. N. — Oh, certainly — ^you know best, Mr. Shorter, 
about such things. 

Shorter. — Margaret Irving, you may come forward 
and read jowr composition! [_Margaret put^^i her face 
upon the desk and begins to cry .'] Why, Margaret I There's 
nothing to cry about, child. Your composition is as good 
a one as I ever had from a pupil of your age. And you'll 
say so, too, Mrs. Nj^e, when you've heard it. 

Mrs. N. — I'm sure I shall. \_Meanwhile several of the 
gii^ls have clustered around Margaret urging her to read 
— the boys taking advantage of the affair to amuse them- 
selves in various ways. 2 

Margaret [^sobbing with her head down."] — I don't 
want to read it, sir, and Betsey Day promised me she'd 
read it. 

Shorter. — That will do just as well ! Come forward, 
Betsey I [Betsey advances.^ Now speak up just as loud 
as you can ! We want to hear every word ! 

Betsey \beginning in too high a key, voice breaks and 
reads with difficulty']. 

On the Gat. 

" I like the cat very much, when it don't scratch me 
nor jump up on the table, which a dog don't never do, 
and so the dog is very useful to the farmer. He barks 
so loud and bites folks who want to get into the bouse 



128 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

and steal all our money, and then if they are caught thej 
have to go to jail for ever so many 3- ears. 

" I like little chickens much ; but I don't like toads nor 
snakes — the great, nasty things I Once there was a little 
boy, not more than ten or twelve years old, who went out 
into the woods, a great way off from the house where his 
uncle lived, to get the cows, and he was gone so long 
that the folks were scared about him, and so they went 
out hunting for him, but they could not find him any- 
where in the woods, because he had not gone after the 
cows at all, but had gone to play with another boy whose 
name was John Jones. 

" We should all obey our parents and do as our friends 
want to have us, so that we msij grow up to be good men 
and women. ''Margaret Irving." 

Mrs. K — Admirable — admirable! How old is Mar- 
garet ? 

Shorter. — Only fourteen [_ proudly."] 

Mrs. N, — Is it possible ! Why, I have heard composi- 
tions read which were writ by scholars more than fifteen 
years old which weren't nearly so good as that. 

Girl. — Mr. Shorter, Fann^^ Lusk says Maggie Irving 
ought to write a good composition when she had a sister 
at home to help, who's ben off to boarding-school! 

Margaret [head down']. — She didn't help me a^bit — so 
there! \_crying.] 

Shorter. — I don't believe she did, Margaret! [Going 
to her and patting her head.] It is your own composition, 
I know, for it sounds just like you. I wouldn't care what 
Fanny Lusk says. Let her try to do as well! [Shorter 
retires. Fanny begins crying. Angry discussions among 
the girls.] I take a good deal of pains with their com- 
positions, Mrs. Nye. I think it very important. I let 
them take their own subjects and tell them to write as 
natural as they can — just as if they were talking with 
each other. You notice in Margaret's composition how 
that plan brings out a variety of thoughts, which wouldn't 
liave been the case if I had selected a subject for her and 
told her to write on that. 

Mrs. N. — Your plan, Mr. Shorter, is an excellent one. 

Shorter.— Prepare for dismissal ! [ Confusion. ] R eady I 
l^Quiet.] Rise! [^Great iioise.] Silence I Dismissed; 



EXCELSIOK DIALOGUES. 



129 



[^General rush for the door. Scuffling, fighting, yelling, 

\_Exeunt omnes.'] 

Mrs. N. — Don't you find teaching very trying, Mr. 
Shorter ? 

Shorter. — No, ma'am — not at all. I had rather follow 
teaching than go into any other profession. I sometimes 
think I had rather teach than eat ! 

Mrs. N. — That is the kind of teachers we ought to 
have in all of our schools I am delighted that I visited, 
you. It has been a long time since I spent such a pleas- 
ant ''hour in school." 

\_Guriain falls.'] 




130 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



THE IRISH VOTER. 

DRAMATIZED FROM 

T. S. ARTHUR'S "BEFORE AND AFTER THE ELECTION,' 

CHARACTERS. 

Patrick Murphy, a victim of politicians. 

Mr. Ross, a politician. 

Mr. Parker, a merchant. 

Mr. Bluff. 

Biddy, wife to Patrick Murphy. 

Clerk of Mr. Parker. 

Party Leader. 

Servant. 

Citizens. 

Bar-room loungers and others. 



Scene I. — In a hotel — Enter Ross and Pat Murphy, 

Mr. Ross. — Ah, Patrick, hoTV are you, my friend and 
fellow-citizen? How are you? \_Orasping his hand.'] 
How is Mrs. Murphy and all the little ones at home ? 

Patrick. — Wull, T thank ye ; and how's yer honor? 

Mr. R. — First-rate, my friend ; first-rate. Won't you 
take something to drink, Patrick ? 

Pat. — Wull, I don't care if I do, if it's only for the 
sake of the good cause. 

Mr. R. — You may well say for the good cause — the 
cause of the people. It is for equal rights we are now 
struggling, my poor but honest friend. For the right to 
breathe the pure air of heaven ! For the right to think, 
and speak, and act as freemen ! Men in power are riding 
it over us roughshod ; they are crushing the very life out 
of us. The privileged few gather to themselves all the 
good things in the land, and leave the great multitude, — 
the mass of the people, — the bone and sinew of the nation, 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 131 

like dogs, to eat the crumbs that fall from their tables. 
But there's a good time coming, Patrick, a good time 
coming. A little while, and there will be a great change. 

Pat. — Yis, y'r honor, that th'r wuU. 

Mr. R. [advancing towards the bar,'] — What will you 
take, Mr. Murphy ? 

Pat. — Any thing ye plaze. 

Mr. R. — Say brandy and water. 

Pat. — Fust-rate. 

Mr. R. [they take the glasses.] — Here^s to your good 
health, Mr. Murphy. 

Pat. — The same till you. [Pat swallows a whole tum- 
bler of pure brandy.] 

Mr. R. — And now, my worthy friend [drawing aside], 
how is the good cause progressing in your particular 
neighborhood ? 

Pat. — You're safe in our ward by a hundred majority. 

Mr. R.— D'ye think so ? 

Pat. — Faith an' ye are. I was down at McPhelin's 
tavern last night until twelve o'clock. There warn't but 
three men there who dared to open their mouths for 
Lysle, and I rather think that their bones ain't done 
aching yet. 

Mr. R. — How so ? [Murphy doubles his fists and as- 
sumes a pugilistic attitude.] No fighting, I hope. 

Pat. — No — no. Only a bit of scrimmage. There was 
a rowdy Yankee there, who insulted y'r honor, and the 
way I chastised him would have done y'r heart good. 

Mr. R. — Insulted me? Ah, what did he say? 

Pat. — Yis ; and he insulted the great body of y'r con- 
stituents into the bargain, the spalpeen 1 

Mr. R.— How ? What did he say of me ? 

Pat. — He said that y'r honor cared no more for a pooi 
nan than for the dirt under 3^'r feet ; and that after the 
election, you wouldn't let me, in particular, touch you 
with a fort3^-foot pole. 

Mr. R. — He said that, did he ? 

Pat. — Indade, y'r honor, and that's just what he did 
say. But if he didn't feel the weight of a heavy bunch 
of bones, call me a liar. He'll have blue ribbons around 
his e^-es for a month. It'll be as much as the bargain if 
he gets to the polls to-morrow. 



182 EXCELSTOK DIALOaUES. 

Mr. R — And so we are certain of j^oiir ward ? 

Pat. — Sure as death ; and I take credit 'to meself for 
one-lialf the success. I've worked hard in the good 
cause, Mr. R. 

Mr. R. — It's the cause of the people ; or, more em- 
phatically speaking, the cause of the poor man. The rich 
and the privileged classes — the capitalists and monopolists 
of the day — are crushing the very life out of you. This 
is the time for effectual resistance. You must break the 
chains of oppression now, or they remain fastened upon 
you forever. The country of your adoption expects 
much of you, Mr. Murphy ; do not disappoint her. Re- 
member, that the vote of a poor man is equal in value to 
that of the proudest nabob in the land. . Never lose sight 
of that fact, my friend. A convert to our side, no matter 
who or what he is, a drunkard in the gutter, or a lazy 
pauper in the almshouse, balances off the vote of one of 
your silk-stocking gentry on the other side. Yotes are 
what we want, then — ^votes — votes — votes. Let that be 
ever before your eyes. You'll be at the public meeting 
to-night ? 

Pat. — Dade, and it's what I wuU. 

Mr. R. — That's right; and you must bring along as 
many staunch adherents of the good cause as you can 
find. 

Pat.— Trust me for that, Mr. R. 

Mr. R. — Mr. Parker is not on our side ? 

Pat. — He I No — no I He belongs to the silk-stocking 
party. What do you think he said to me yesterday ? 
' See here. Murphy,' says he, * if you don't quit this drink- 
ing and rowdying about, and attend better to your busi- 
ness, you and I'll have to part.' Drinking and rowdying 
about, indade ! I knew what he meant. It was the political 
matters he objected till. He wanted to interfere with my 
freedom and compel me to vote his way. 

Mr. R.— Is it possible ? 

Pat. — Dade, and it is. 

Mr. R. — What did you say to him ? 

Pat. — Say till him I Why, just nothing, at all, at all. 
But didn't I look as black as a thunder-cloud ? 

Mr. R. — Don't be afraid, my excellent friend. [Laying 
his hand on the Irishman's shoulder and speaking deliher- 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 133 

ately.'\ Do .yonr duty as a man and fear notlimg. What 
wages does Parker give you ? 

Pat. — A paltry twenty dollars a month, bad luck till 
him. 

Mr. R. — For the valuable services of a man like you I 

Pat. — It's ivery cint. 

Mr. R. — Possible I it's little better than starvation. 

Pat. — Dade, and 3^6 may well say that. It's little more 
nor starvation. I wonder how much better he is nor me, 
or ony of the poor men around him, out of whose sweat 
and blood he is coining goold and dollars. 

Mr. R. — He's not half so good, my honest friend. 
You're worth a dozen like him. It's you that ought to 
be riding in a carriage instead of one like him. 

Pat [^contemptuously']. — The likes o' him. 

Mr R. [encouragingly.] — There's a good time coming. 
Work hard and push through the good cause at this elec- 
tion. Once let our party come into power, and you will 
see a change that will be worth calling a change. There 
are plenty of fat offices waiting for the working friends of 
the cause, and you belong emphatically to that class. 

Pat. — Yis, indade I I'm a working man out and out. 

Mr. R. — That's well known. I've heard you spoken 
of a dozen times. More than one of our leading men 
have their eyes on you. 

Pat. — We're bound to bate. 

Mr. R. — But we will have to work for it. Don't forget 
that. Our opponents are wide awake. 

Pat. — Och, and ye needn't to tell me that, Musther 
Ross. Don't I know? But, as I said, we're bound to 
bate, and we will bate. And when we've won the elec- 
tion, what kind of an office do you think I can get ? How 
large will be the salary ? 

Mr. R. — Nothing less than seven or eight hundred 
dollars. 

Pat. — So much as that! Och! blood-er-nouns, but 
won't I be illigant I Eight hundred dollars ! I feel rich 
already. Who cares for Mr. Parker ! Bad 'cess till him ! 

Mr. R. — Don't forget the meeting to-night! 

Pat. — Never fear; I'll be there. Good-bye, now. I 
must be off at once. 

Mr. R. — Be sure, and above all, be at your post to- 



184: EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

morrow. It is the great day of battle, and unless every 
soldier is in the field, the enemy may conquer. Go early 
to the polls and vote your ticket, and then see that every 
man over whom you have an influence does the same 
thing. "A long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all to- 
gether," will do the work for us. Then you know the 
motto : " To the victors belong the spoils. " But if you 
must go — Good-bye, my friend. [^Shakes him warmly by 
the hand.'] 

[JExif Pat.'] 
Mr. R. \^with disgust.] — Pahl I shall be glad when this 
work is over. I'm half-sick with disgust, and half-mad 
with a fretting sense of humiliation. But they are our 
tools, and we must work with them. After our work is 
done, it will be an easy matter to throw them aside. 
\_Curtain falls.] 



Scene II. — Mr. Parker's Store, 

[Enter Pat] 

Pat. — I shall be absent the rest of the day, Musther 
Parker. 

Mr. p.— How so, Patrick ? 

Pat. — It's 'lection day. 

Mr. p. — Well, what of that ! Have you a vote ? 

Pat. — Sure and I have as much as the best of yez. 

Mr. p. — Then you're naturalized ? 

Pat. — Dade, and I am that. 

Mr. p. — But it won't take you all day to vote. Half 
an hour, or an hour at most, is long enough for you to be 
absent from the store. 

Pat. — I've something else to do besides voting. I'm 
one of the ward committee to attend the polls. 

Mr. p. [contemptuously ] — You are I 

Pat [indignantlyl. — Yez needn't fash a body in that 
way Mr. Parker, I'se got rights and privileges as well 
as ony other mon — if I am poor I 

Mr. P [seriously.] — I've no wish to interfere with your 
right, Patrick. As a citizen your right and duty is to 
vote, and time enough for that I have no desire to with- 
hold. You can go and cast your vote, and then returi) 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 135 

to your work, as I shall do. But to release you from your 
obligation to me, that you ma}^ have time to meddle in 
what doesn't concern you, and interfere with other men's 
freedom in voting, is what I cannot do. To-day is a 
busy day in the store. We have a large amount of goods 
to pack and cannot dispense with your services. 

Pat. — My duty to my adopted country 

Mr. p. — You needn't talk to me after that fashion, 
Patrick. Vote your vote if you wish to do so, and leave 
the country to take care of itself. It will get along well 
enough without your meddling interference. 

Pat. — yis ; that's the way ye nabobs try to lord it 
over us poor men, when ye think ye have us in y'r power. 
But I'm not just ready to kneel down and let yez put y'r 
foot on my neck. 

Mr. P [sharpli/.^ — My friend, I don't want to bandy 
any words with you. You can go to the polls and vote. 
I'll give you an hour for that purpose; and you can vote 
for his Satanic Majesty, if it jDlease your fancy, for all I 
care. But if you are not here at the expiration of an 
hour, I'll hire a man in your place. 

Pat. — Musther Parker 

Mr. p. [turning away.'] — I'll hear no more on the subject. 
\_Exit Mr. Parker.'] 

Pat. — No purse-proud nabob shall lord it over me. 
[ Curtain falls.] 



Scene III. — Jfter the election — J street — Pat on his way 
to Mr. Ross's, 

Pat. — I've made some powerful acquaintances, ony 
how. Musther Ross is a jewel of a man, worth his 
weight in gold. If I have lost the situation at Mr Par- 
ker's, it was in his cause, and he'll not see me suffer. 
lEnter Mr. Bluff and gentleman.] How are you, Musther 
Bluff? [advancing toward him.] 

Mr. B. [looking indifferently — a^iswers contemptuously.] 
How are you, Pat ? [ Turns his back toward him. Enter 
har-room loungers.] 

Bar Lou. — Hallo, Pat! How d'ye feel this morning? 
Didn't save the nation after all. Kever mind, Pat I don't 



ISO EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

look SO cast down about the matter. Better Inck next 
time. You've one consolation : you did your dut}^ 

2d Lou. [sneeringly.'] — Yes, and who thanks him to- 
day ? Yesterday he was one of the people — patted on 
the shoulder and cajoled by Mr. Broad-cloth-and-calfskin, 
but to-day he is a foolish Irishman. Ha ! ha 1 We, the 
people ! It's very fine, and sounds first-rate ; but it's all 
sound and fury, meaning just nothing at all, at all. Pat 
Murphy, my darlint, come, Pat, on to the bar ; won't you 
treat, Pat ? 

Pat [ Thrusting his hand in his pocket, and drawing it 
out slowly, shakes his head and sighs']. — Haven't a red cint 
left to bless myself. 

1st Lou. — Just my own interesting condition, Pat. 

Pat. — Have you seen Mr. Ross the day ? 

2d Lou. — Yes ; but he looked as sour as a lemon ; it 
would take a power of sugar to sweeten him. 

Pat. — He's disappointed, in course. 

1st Lou. — Ain't he ? 

Pat. — Well, as for Musther Ross, I can say won thing 
of him honestly. He's a jontleman, ivery inch of him. He 
knows a mon when he sees him, and can appreciate merit 
in the humblest. Bad luck till the party that bate him, 
say I. 

1st Lou. — He's like all the rest of 'em. Mighty fine 
and nice when they want your vote ; but too good to 
share the same sunshine with you, after the election. I 
know 'em all, from A to Z. 

Pat [indignantly']. — I'll not stand and hear a jontleman 
like Musther Ross abused after that fashion. 

2d Lou [sneeri7igly.] — Won't you, indeed ? 

Pat. — Indade and I wont thin. He's my friend, and 
I'll hold ony mon till account that speaks against him. 
\_Enter third bar-room lounger ] 

3d Lou. — Ha 1 ha 1 Pat, how d'ye like Mr. Ross by this 
time ? ha 1 ha I ha I Ah, Pat, he's a honey, my darlint 
He cares a deal about you now, don't he ? 

Pat. — Hould yer tongue, you fool, or I'll put my fist in 
your mouth. 

3d Lou. — You darn't ! 

Pat. — Don't I thin? [striking him with Ms fist.'} Thin 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 137 

take that and be quiet. [All crowd up — a fight ensues^ 
and they pitch Pat into the street. 'l 

[Exit loungers."] 

Pat [gathering himself up, looks round and walks 
sheepishly up to Mr. Bosses door and rings bell. Enter 
^^ervanf]. Can I see Musther Ross ? 

Servant. — He's engaged, and cannot be seen. 

Pat. — He'll see me, I know. Tell him that Mnsther 
Murphy wishes to spake wid him just a minute. 

Ser. [goes and returns.'] — Mr. Ross is engaged and 
cannot see any one. 

Pat. — Did yez tell him me name ? 

Ser. — I did. 

Pat. — And what did he say ? 

Ser. [sharply.] — I have told you what he said. He 
cannot see you. [Servant shuts door — Fat walks slowly 
away. Enter Mr. Parker.] 

Pat. — Sure, Musther Parker, it's back in yer own store 
I would like to be. 

Mr. p. — Why, how is this, Pat ? You wouldn't live 
with a nabob ? 

Pat. — Indade, an' plaze yer honor, it's no nabob ye are, 
but a jontleman ; an' it's Patrick Murphy '11 sarve ye to 
yer heart's contint, if iver ye'll give him a chance agin. 
I've bin badly desaved, Mr. Parker. 

Mr. p. [coolly.] — Well, it's too late now. I have hired 
another man. 

Pat. — Then yez proscribes me for opinion's sake. 

Mr. p. — No ; I merely filled the place you left. I don't 
care any thing about a man's opinions. I regard only 
his ability to serve me in the place I want filled. If he 
leaves my work to go and interfere with the freedom of 
elections at the polls for a whole day, I will discharge 
him, no matter what his political opinions may be, and I 
told you that beforehand ; so you've only yourself to 
blame. Here's the balance of money due you ; and when 
next you get a good place, don't throw it up for the sake 
of some brawling candidate, who doesn't care three beans 
for you. 

[Exit Mr. Parkei — Pat mortified. Enter Mr. Boss with 
two gentlemen.] 

Pat [going toward them]. — How aire yez, Musther Ross ? 



188 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Mr. R. [angrily.'} — Who are you, and what do you want ? 

Pat [smiling, and going closer]. — Don't yez know Mus- 
ther Murphy? 

Mr. R. — Murphy ? Pah I I've had more Pat Murphys 
running after me than would freight a ship. What do 
you want ? 

[Curtain falls.'] 



Scene IV. — Second election — Pat carrying a hod of brick 
up a ladder, 

Pat [half angrily as he reaches the top of the ladder 
and deposits his bricks']. — Bad 'cess till Misther Ross ! 
Bad cess till Misther Ross ! If it hadn't been for him I'd 
still be houlding my good situation in Parker's store, instead 
of being kilt to death with this hod-carrying. [Shoulders 
his hod and goes down ; just as he reaches the bottom enter 
Mr. B.] 

Mr. R. — Why, Mr. Murphy, is this you ? How are you, 
my old friend and fellow-citizen ? How are you ? [Smiles 
and extends his hand.] 

Pat [pleasantly surprised, allows Mr, JR. to take his 
hand and shake it heartily]. How are yez, Mr. Ross I 

Mr. R Oh, bright as a May morning! [Still holding 

his hand.] But how are you getting on now, Mr. Mur- 
phy? 

Pat — Bad enough, and plaze y'r honor. 

Mr. R. — Ah I I'm sorry for that. Have you been un- 
fortunate ? 

Pat. — Dade, thin, and have I. That 'lection business 
kilt me dead. 

Mr. R. — How so, Mr. Murphy ? We were beaten, it is 
true, but how did it affect you personally ? 

Pat. — Mr. Parker turned me off for going to the polls 
on 'lection day, and it's been hard wid me ever since, I 
can tell yez. 

Mr. R. — Turned you off, Mr. Murphy, for voting 3^our 
sentiments as an American citizen ! 

Pat [with much feeling]. — Yis, it's just that, Misther 
Ross. 

Mr. R. — Yile proscription I Thus it is that these nabobs 



EXCELSiOE DiALOaUES. 189 

of our land seek, as in the old country, to bind the free 
consciences of the people, and to trample on their politi- 
cal rights. You felt this in Ireland, Mr. Murphy ; and 
it was to escape such tyranny that you left the beautiful 
home of your fathers and came to happy America. Shall 
the heel of the oppressor be on your neck here also ? 
Spirit of Liberty, forbid it ! Mr. Murphy, we must break 
down this league of the rich against the poor. We can 
do it and we will. In this cause I have embarked, and I 
will die by it. What greater glory can any man desire, 
than to be known as the friend of the people ? 

Pat. — Nabobs I Yis, vile oppressing nabobs I If I 
had my will o' them I [Clenching his Jist.'] 

Mr. R. — This is rather a hard kind of business, Mr. 
Murphy. A man like you ought to be doing something 
better than carrying bricks up a ladder. 

Pat. — Dade and he ought, Musther R. 

Mr. R. — Come round to my house to-night, Mr. Mur- 
phy ; I'd like to have some talk with you. 

Pat. — Yez lives in the same place ? 

Mr. R. — Come about nine o'clock. I will be disengaged 
then. 

Pat. — I'll be there to the minute, Musther Ross. 

Mr. R. — Yery well, and now good-day; I rather think 
we'll find you some better work to do than this. 

Pat. — Thank yez, sir, thank yez ! I'll be a thousand 
times obleeged till yez. [Exit Boss. Pat carries up 
another hod of bricks and comes running down whistling.^ 
[^Curtain falls.'] 



Scene V. — In Mr. Ross*s house — Several citizens with Mr, 
R. seated round a tahle.^ on which are wine-bottle and glasses. 
Door-bell rings — Mr. R. moves to the door. 

\_Enter Pat.] 

Mr. R. — Ah ! you're the man after all, Mr. Murphy I 
Punctual to the minute I \_grasping him by the hand and 
leading him.] Come in, my good fellow, come in. Mr. 
Murphy, gentlemen I 

Citizens. — How are you, sir ? 



14:0 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

First Citizen. — How are you, my honest friend ? how 
are you ? Happy, indeed, to see you ! 

Mr. R. — Take a chair, Mr. Murphy. Gentlemen, have 
something to drink. \_Drink all round.'] Well, gentle- 
men, this is the Mr. Murphy of whom I was speaking to 
you, an honest hard-working man, who has been pro- 
scribed for opinion's sake. No man has labored harder, 
or more efficiently in our cause than he, and it will be a 
burning disgrace to our party — the party of the people, 
the sworn advocate of the oppressed and trampled upon — 
if we let him suffer for his devotion to true principles. 
This man has a family, sirs — a family to whom he is 
dearly attached, and for whom he's toiling like a galley- 
slave at the oar. Previous to the last election he had a 
good situation and a good salary in the store of Mr. Par- 
ker ; bat because he worked in our cause Parker turned 
him off, to starve with his wife and little ones, for all he 
cared. 

First Citizen. — Impossible! To think that such a 
spirit exists in our country. 

Mr. R. — A spirit that, if not checked, will prostrate our 
liberties beneath the iron heal of oppression. What is a 
poor man in the eyes of one like Parker ? Of less value 
than his horse. And he is but the tj^pe of his party. 

Citizens. — That is true, sir. 

Mr. R. — And now, Mr. Murphy, the time has come 
when another strong effort must be made to break through 
the party lines that have been drawn by these poor-oppress- 
ing, blood-sucking aristocrats. At the last campaign we 
drove them back and came near routing them — horse, 
foot and dragoons. This time, if we unite our forces, 
victory is certain, and you know, my honest friend, that 
" to the victors belong the spoils." No man did better 
service to the good cause at the last election than you, Mr. 
Murphy ; and now that the tug of war is about to come 
again, your bleeding country calls upon you and asks for 
aid. Shall she call in vain? No, not when her voice 
reaches the ears of Patrick Murphy, the man who has 
felt the crushing weight of oppression. What say you, 
Mr. Murphy ? Are you with us again ? 

Pat. — Faix an' am I then, Mr Ross. Bad 'cess till the 
nabobs I I'll have it out wid 'em yet. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 141 

1st Citizen. — You've got the right kind of stuff in you> 
Mr. Murphy. 

Pat I'm an Irishman. 

Mr. R. — And an honor both to the countrj^ of your 
hiith and the country of your adoption. We looked upon 
you as one of our best men at last election. Already more 
than a dozen of your old friends have been inquiring 
after you. Your appearance in our ranks will put new 
life into our people, for they know you of old. [ Taking 
out his pocket-book and handing Pat a five dollar note J] 
There, Mr. Murphy, is the beginning of your pay, and 
there [handing another'] is a Y to be used for the good of 
the party, you know. 

Pat. — Thank yez, sir ! thank ye. Much obleeged to 
ye. I'll make it go as far as it wull, sir. I'll get ye a 
deal of votes, niver fear me. Good-night, jontlemen, till 
yez all. 

l^Gurtain falls.] 

Scene VI. — Jt Pafs house. Biddy at her work, 

[Enter Pat, groggy.] 

Biddy. — Why, Pathrick, ye convict, an' where have 
ye bin all the day ? Musther Parker sent for yez the day 
and wants to see ye. 

Pat. — Bad luck till Mr. Parker I bad luck till him, I 
say I [Staggers into a seat.] 

Biddy. — Are ye crazy, mon ? No doubt Mr. Parker 
wants ye back agin in his store. 

Pat. — Bad 'cess till him. I'll niver darken his door 
agin — the aristocratic, silk-stocken nabob I Didn't he 
turn me off for votin' me sentiments as a free American 
citizen ? Didn't he, I say ? Bad 'cess till him, the spalpeen ! 

Biddy. — Ye're a drunken fool, that's what ye are. I've 
a good mind, Pathrick, to take the chilther an' lave ye — 
now I have. I say, are ye going to see Mr. Parker ? 

Pat. — No, faix, an' I am not. I'm done with Musther 
Parker, kith and kin. Didn't he turn me off for votin' 
my sentiments ? Didn't he? Ay, fegs ! an' if iver agin 
I darken his door, it'U do him good. 

Biddy. — Now, Pathrick, ye're jist makin' a fool of 
yourself. Politicks and whusky'll be the ruin of ye. 
[Gurtain falls.] 



142 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



Scene VII. — In Pafs house after election, 

\_Enter Pat, in haste, wavinj his hat."] 

Pat. — We've bate I we've bate I Biddy, my darlint I 
Hurrah for Ross and the cause of the people I Hurrah ! 
Hurrah ! 

Biddy. — Hish I hishi Patrick now! Ye'll wake the 
chilther and alarm the whole neighborhood. 

Pat [^seizing Biddy and swinging her round']. — We've 
bate I we've bate ! Biddy, my darlint I and now for the 
swate little corner in the post-office, and silks and satins 
for Mrs. Murphy ! Ha ! What does yez think of that, 
honey? Pathrick Murphy knew what he was about. 
[ Taking a seat and growing calm.] The fact is, Biddy, 
darlint, I don't b'lave it's jist right to put me off wid a 
beggarly place in the post-office, wid five or six hundred 
a year. A man who has sarved the party as I have de- 
sarves betther tratement nor that, so he does. 

Biddy. — Plaze goodness an' I'd be thankful for thot 
an' niver think of callin' it beggarly. Yez got y'er ideas 
a little too elevated, Pathrick. 

Pat. — Niver a bit, troth. I know my desarvins, an' I'll 
git them. They'll not put me aff wid the crumbs of the 
table, I can tell thera. 

Biddy. — Have yez ony money, Pathrick ? 

Pat. — Niver a red cint, darlint. I spent every farthin' 
yisterday in buyin' up the votes, but I'll see Muster Rosi 
the mornin'. 

Biddy. — But will he pay yez on'thing more, now, 
Pathrick, that 'liction's over ? 

Pat. — An' why not, sure ? An' isn't he under an ever- 
lasting debt o' gratitude to me? Didn't he say that if I'd 
do me duty, as he knew that I could do it, he'd niver for- 
git me while breath was in his mortal body ? 

Biddy. — But what are we to do for dinner the day, 
Pathrick? There isn't a loaf of bread nor a potatee more 
in the house I The chilther must have food. 

Pat. — Och ! an' can't yez jist git a little thrust at Mrs. 
Mulligan's for the day ? I'll git plinty of money when I 
see Musther Ross. 

Biddy. — I dunno. We owe four dollars there now, an' 
Mrg. Mulligan said the last time I was there that we 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 143 

ueedn't come for ony more thrust till the ould score was 
paid off. 

Pat. — Och, bad 'cess till her stingy ould soul I But do 
you tell her, Biddy, darlint, that we've bate the bloody 
nabobs, an' that I'm to have an office, an' we'll have 
hapes o' money, and we'll just dale with her for ivery 
thing. Jist say all that, Biddy, an' she'll open her store 
till yez. 

Biddy.- -I dunno, Pathrick, but I can try. 
[ Curtain falls.'] 



Scene VIII, — At a hotel. Numbers sitting and standing 
around, 

lEnfer Fat] 

Pat. — Good-mornin', jontlemen I Have any of yez seen 
Mr. Ross the day ? 

First Citizen. — Ross ? And pray what do you want 
with him ? An office already, Pat Murphy ? 

Pat [_angrili/']. — Do yez mane to insult me? 

First Cit. \laughing.'\ — Oh, no ; but I'd like to give you 
a piece of good advice. 

Pat. — Wull, and what is it ? 

First Cit. — Why just this, my friend; if you've got 
any work to do, go and do it and be thankful. 

Pat \_clincMng his fists']. — What do yez mane ? 

First Cit. — I mean that j^ou will find it more profitable 
than running after an elected candidate, or seeking an 
office. Ross don't care three buttons for you now that 
he's gained the day. 

\_Enter Ross, with one or two others.] 

Pat [^starting forward and extending his hand, while 
Mr. B. pushes into the crowd]. — Me congratulations, 
Musther Ross I ^Boss and two others drink.] 
\_Exit Mr. Boss. Fat running after.] 

Musther Ross, can I jist git a spaken till yez ? 

Ross [^outside to stage driver]. — To Colonel Lyon^g. 
[^Curtain falls.] 



144 EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 



Scene IX. — At Ross's house, 

\_Pat rings the door-bell. Enter Servant. '\ 

Pat. — Is Mr. Ross in ? 

Servant. — I believe so. Who wants to see him ? 

Pat.— Tell him that Musther Murphy would jist like 
to spake one word wid him — jist one word and no more, 
an' won't kape him a minute. 

[_Exit Servant.'] 

Servant [_returning]. — He will see you presently 
Walk in, sir ; take a seat I 

[^Exit Servant. Fat waits alone.] 

Mr. R. [entering.] — Well, my good friend, what can I 
do for you ? 

Pat. [in humble voice.] — I've worked hard for yez. 

Mr. R. — You did your duty to the good cause. I'll 
give you credit for that, friend Murphy, and you'll get 
your reward. 

Pat. — But how soon, Musther Ross ? 

Mr. R. [impatiently.] — All in good time. All in good 
time. 

Pat. — Ye knows, Musther Ross, that I gave up my 
siteation. 

Mr. R. — At hod-carrying — oh, yes, I remember. Well, 
Pat, you've had a pretty easy time of it for a couple of 
months, and can go to work now with more spirit, sus- 
tained as you will be by the reflection that you have 
served your adopted country like a good and true citizen. 

Pat [in distressed tone]. — But I gave up my siteation, 
Musther Ross ! 

Mr, R. — You must find another, then, my friend ; you 
can't expect to live in idleness. Every man must work 
to live. 

Pat. — I'm not afraid to work, but I've got no work — 
you promised me 

Mr. R. — Office-hunting already I Why don't you know, 
man, that I shall not take my seat in Congress for a year ? 
I'm still only a private citizen. 

Pat. — A 3^ear — a year, did yez say? 

Mr. R. — Certainly I did. The member's term in whose 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 145 

place I have been elected doesn't expire until the close of 
the jjresent Congress. When I take my seat next fall, I 
will do all I can for you ; but until that time you must go 
to work like an honest, industrious citizen. Your reward 
will come, never fear. And now, Patrick, you must excuse 
me ; I have several friends in waiting. [Boss turns away, 
and Pat, looking sad, passes out. 2 Remember, William, 
I'm not at home to any of these fellows. 
[Writer two hHshmen.'] 

First Irishman \to servanf]. — Can I see Mr. Koss ? 

Servant. — He is not at home. 

Second I. — When will he be in ? 

Ser. — I can't tell. [Shuts the door in his/ace.^ 

Pat. — It's a bloody lie. 

First I. — He is in then ? 

Pat. — He^s just that. 

First I. — Have you seen him ? 

Pat. — Yis, and got a bit of could comfort for me pains ; 
jist what ye'll git if y'er after ony favors. 

[Enter Mr. Farker''s clerk. Exit two Irishmen.'] 

Clerk. — Hi, Patrick, is this 5^ou ? Where have you been 
keeping yourself, Patrick ? We spent a whole week, some 
time ago, trying to find you. 

Pat. — Indade I 

Clerk. — Yes, the man we got in your place turned out 
badly. We changed two or three times ; and then Mr. 
Parker thought he'd give j^ou another trial, if you were 
inclined to make the change. He'd seen you at work, 
carrying bricks and mortar, and said he couldn't help 
pitj^ing you. 

Pat. — I'm obleeged till him for his kindness. Mr. Parker 
is a jontlemen, I must say, and I was a fool iver to have 
left his employ. I'll go back wid pleasure. 

Clerk. — Ah, but, Patrick, it's too late now; we couldn't 
find you, and so filled the place with another man, who is 
all we could want. 

Pat. — It's all bad luck. I've a mind to go and thrown 
me self. 

Clerk. — But where were you, Patrick ? We left word 
at 3^our house to come round to the store. 

Pat. — Where was I, d'ye say ? Faix and I was mindin' 
other paple's business, instid of my own. 

G 10 



146 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

Clerk. — Indeed I 

Pat. — Yis, I was promotin' the eliction of Ross, bad 
'cess till Mm. 

Clerk. — Well, you are a fool. What good did you ex- 
pect to gain from his election ? 

Pat. — He promised me a siteation in the post-office. 

Clerk. — Did he ? That's rich ! What has he to do 
with the post-office ? 

Pat. — I dunno, but he promised that I should be re- 
warded. 

Clerk. — As he promised two or three hundred besides, 
as big fools as you are. He'll have nothing to do with 
the post-office. In fact, he won't take his seat in Congress 
for. over a year ; and then his influence, if he have any, will 
not go in your favor. He's got too many, others to re- 
ward with the few crumbs he may have to dispense. \_Pat 
groans.'] Good morning, Patrick, and take with you this 
piece of good advice ; never put any faith in the promises 
of a politician made on the eve of an election, for he'll be 
sure to deceive you. 

\_Gurtain falls. 2 

Scene X. — In front of Mr, Parker^s store. Enter Party 
Leader, 

Party Leader. — Murphy, my good fellow, how are 
you? 

Pat. [coolly.'] — Purty wull, I thank yez. 

p. L. — How are you getting along now ? 

Pat.— Fust-rate. 

P. L. — Glad to hear it. No man deserves good-fortune 
if you do not. Well, you see, election time is coming 
round again 

Pat. — Indade ! 

P. L. — A time when every good citizen is expected to 
do his duty. 

Pat. — I did my duty wanst, and what 

P. L. — That you did, Mr. Murphy, as hundreds can 
testify. 

Pat. — Humph ! I know thot as wull as onybody. 

P. L. [laying his hand on Pafs shoulder,'] — We want to 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 147 

see jou down at headquarters to-night. We cant do 
without your valuable aid. 

Pat. — Bedad, and yez won't see me there I 

P. L. — Why not, my honest friend ? 

Pat. — Don't honest frind me, if ye plaze ! I'se aban- 
doned yez all in disgust, so I have, bad 'cess till 3^'r poli- 
tics. They're only got up to chate and desave the honest 
hard-workin' paple into votin' for nabobs, who don't care 
a ha'pence for them. 

P. L. — But, my friend Murphy 

Pat. — Yez nadent frind me. It'll do no good. A 
burnt child dreads the fire. I'se got enough of politics ; 
so good-mornin' till yez. [^Exit Pat.'] 

P. L. — Confound the fellow. He isn't so green as I 
thought him. Well, we must fill his place with some 
green islander of a later importation. There are plenty 
of them about ready to be caught. All the fools are not 
dead yet. 

\_Curtain falls.'] 




148 EXCELSIOH DIALOGUES. 



THE BRIDAL WINE CUP. 

Scene. — A handsomely furnished parlor — A bridal company 
assembled — Bridegroom and bride and Judge Harvey^ 
father of the bride — On a marble table are standing de- 
canters and glasses of wine^ zuhich are being distributed to 
the guests. — The bride should be beaut fully attired in white ^ 
and the appearance of the whole company imposing. 

Guests. — -Pledge with wine ! Pledge with wine ! 

Judge H. \in alow tone, advancing toiuard his daughter.'} 
— Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for once ; the com- 
pany expect it. Do not so seriously infringe upon the 
rules of etiquette ; in your own home, act as you please j 
but in mine, for this once, please me. 

\^Every eye turns toward the bride."] 

Bride [smilingly accepts a brimming beaher, and 
raising it to her lips; then, with a piercing voice, ex* 
claims'] — Oh, how terrible ! 

Guests [in aZarm].— What is it ? What can it be ? 

Bride \Jiolding the glass from her, and regarding it 
with horror]. — Wait ! Wait I I will tell you ! I see [point- 
ing her jewelled finger at the wine] a sight that beggars 
description — and yet listen, I will paint it for you if I 
can. It is a lonely spot — tall mountains, crowned with 
verdure, rise in awful sublimity around; a river runs 
through, and bright flowers grow on the water's edge. 
There is a thick, warm mist, that the sun seeks vainly to 
pierce. Trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion 
of the birds ; but there a group of Indians is gathered — 
they flit to and fro, with something like sorrow on their 
dark brows. In their midst lies a manly form; but his 
cheek, how deathl}^ ! his eyes wild with the fire of fever ! 
One friend stands beside him, nay, I should say, kneels, 
for see, he is jDillowing that poor bead upon his bosom. 
Genius in ruin ! Oh, the high, holy-looking brow I Why 
should death mark it, and he so young ? Look, how he 
throws back the damp curls I See him clasp his hands ! 
hear his thrilling shriek for life ! mark how he clutches 
at the form of his companion, imploring to be saved I 
Oh, hear him call piteously his father's name I See him 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 149 

twine Ms fingers together as lie calls for his sister, the 
twin of his soul, weeping for him in his distant land I 
[ Tlie bridal party sJuHnk back, and the Judge sinks, over- 
powered, to his seat at her side, bowing his head.'\ See, 
his arms are lifted to heaven ; he prays, how wildly, for 
mercy. Hot fever throbs in his veins. The friend beside 
him is weeping, awe-stricken ; the dark men move silently 
away, and leave the living and dying together [Smothered 
sob from some one. The bride stands upright, with quiver- 
ing lip and tearful eyes. Sht draws the glass toward her, 
and, in a low but awfully distinct voice, goes on.] It is 
evening now ; the great white moon is coming up, and its 
beams lie gently on his forehead. He moves not — his 
eyes are set in their sockets, dim are their piercing 
glances ; in vain his friends whisper the name of father 
and sister. Death is here ! — Death! and no soft hand, 
no gentie voice, to bless and soothe him. His head sinks 
back — one convulsive shudder — he is dead! [^A groan 
runs through the assembly. The bridegroom covers his 
face arid weeps."] Dead ! [m a more broken voice,'] Dead I 
and there they scoop him a grave, and there, without a 
shroud, they lay him down on that damp, reeking earth. 
The only son of a proud father, the only idolized brother 
of a fond sister, [the Judge groans bitterly,] and he sleeps 
in that distant country, with no stone to mark the spot. 
There he lies, my father'' s son, my own twin-brother, a 
victim t© this deadly poison. Father [turning suddenly 
to Judge E.], father, shall I drink it now ? 

Judge [in a smothered voice]. — No, no, my child! in 
God's name, no 1 

[Marion lifts the goblet and drops it to the floor. The 
guests transfer silently their glasses to table, without tasting 
the wine. Looking at the fragments, she turns to the com- 
pany, sayivg], Let no friend, hereafter, who loves me, 
tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer are the 
everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never 
to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he [turning 
to the bridegroom] to whom I have given my hand, who 
watched over my brother's dying form in the last solemn 
hour, and buried the dear wanderer there by the river in 
that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. 
Will you not, my husband ? 

Bridegroom. — Yes, Marion, God helping me, I will ! 
[Curtain falls.] 



150 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

THE PROFESSOR. 

CHARACTERS. 

Henri Antoine, lately from Paris. 
Victor Roche, friend of Henri. 
Prof. Bunion, corn and wart extractor. 

" Frizzle, tonsorial artist. 

" Sapo, itinerant vender of soap. 

*' BuMPUS, phrenological lecturer. 

" Biokrene, biologist. 

" Scrub, whitewasher and boot-black, 

" Blowhard, elocutionist. 

" Screech, vocal music. 

" Catgut, violinist. 

" Flourish, penmanship. 

" Fancy, dancing-master. 

u LiTTLEMAN, teacher of infant school. 

" KiLLUM, quack-in-general. 

" Worth, friend of Victor. 



\^Room in Boarding-Rouse.'] 

Henri [looking at watch']. — Yil ze professeur be arriv^ 
prese.nt I I favor ze langazh Men — tres Men ! I moosh 
aches to acquire ze all I [K^iock.^ Zat for me! I re- 
zhoice Men I Entrez ! 

ViCTon {entering]. — Henri I 

Henri [embracing]. — Victor I I am transported I I am 
ravished. Vare you be ven you — you — discovers rae ? 
Take a seat viz me ! 

YiCTOB, [seating themselves]. — Why, you can talk the 
language so very well, Henri I 

Henri [proudly]. — Done! Oh, I soon learns so veil as 
I can be a professeur myself I I do pain myself to know 
ze all ! Ye vill speaks ze Inglis all ze time ve speaks to- 
gezer, Yictor — you please. How you know vare I be? 
Speak I 

YiGTOR [taking paper from pocket]. — I see your adver- 



EXCELSIOR "DIALOGDES. 151 

tisement tMs morning. When I finish my coffee I rush 
to you presently. 

Henri. — J^en suis Men aise ! Tell — is not ze — ze — • 
ad Comment'^ 

YiCTOR. — Advertisement I 

Henri. — Oh, oui, ouil Zq advertisement! Be she not 
well composed, by gar, for me ? 

YiCTOR [smiling']. — "You cook a nice kettle of fish," 
as the English say I 

Henri. — Yat you say? Mon Dieu! Is she not veil 
performed 1 Is she not comme il faut ? Yat she say not 
veil ? Read, Yictor I 

YiCTOR [reading']. — '< Wanted — a professor. Address 
youself to Henri Antoine, No. 34 Liberty street." 

Henri. — Yell — vat is she not so she may be ? 

Yictor. — Eegardez! Everybody will come to you. 
Here in America everybody is professor. Do you under- 
stand, Henri? 

Henri. — I vill learn ze langazh so speedy. Bien I I 
say to zem I vill have a jprofesseur. Sail I not employ a 
profes&eui — you say ? 

Yictor. — No — not as you have begun, Henri. [Laugh- 
ing.] You will have so many that you may not obtain 
the one you wish. 

Henri. — Parhleu! You assist zen, — non, Yictor? 

Yictor. — Certainly — I will stay with you. You must 
not become angry, Henri — remember I It is the custom 
of the country. Tout le monde is professor. 

Henri. — I vill possess myself! I vill be a zhentleman. 
Oh, vat for I deceive myself I I try many times — I be 
certain she be as she would be 

Yictor. — So it is, Henry 1 as it would be — not as it 
should be. 

Henri. — Yat I Say you zat ? Oh I a — a — a — pecu- 
liar langazh — n^est-ce pas ? 

Yictor. — Yery — very ! But you will soon learn it, 
Henri I Courage I 

Henri. - Oh, I vill — I vill I I be — vat you say— I be — 
fastened — non — non ! 

Yictor. — Bound 

Henri. — Zat be she ! Merci! I be bound in learning 
ze langazh I I be bound in her ! [Knock.] Entrez! 



152 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

YiCTOR. — You must say " Come in I'* 

Henri. — Mercif Come in I 

Bunion ^entering']. — Good-morning, gentlemen! [Tlieij 
return salutation.'] Beg your pardon — wkich is Mr. An- 
tony ? 

Henri. — I be Monsieur Antoine. Take a chair, you 
please I 

Bunion [^sitting — taking paper from pockef]. — I saw 
your advertisement, Mr. Antoine, in this morning's paper, 
and I am come to respond to it. I have been a professor 
in my department for more than seventeen years now, sir, 
and have been established in this city for nearlj^ nine, sir. 
I have testimonials here, sir, from the first families in the 
city, sir. \_Taking package f7^om pocket.'] You might wish 
to examine them, sir I [^Offering to Henri, who motions 
them away ] My terms are YQvy reasonable, sir — -very — 
when you take into account the nature of the services I 
render, and how liable you are to be imposed upon by 
impostors. Here is my advertisement, sir, in the same 
paper, sir, as yours. Should be delighted to have an op- 
portunity of exerting mj^self for you, sirl I rerrjove with 
scarcely any pain and guarantee them not to appear again 
for one year. 

YiCTOR \_Henry has been looking alternately at each be- 
wildered]. — You must have mistaken my friend's adver- 
tisement. He is a stranger in this country, and desires 
to secure a professor — an instructor — in the English lan- 
guage. 

Henri \_pointing to advertisement]. — Zat is vat she say 
— a professeur ! 

Bunion [drawing himself up]. — That is what I have 
the honor to be, gentlemen I Be good enough to read 
my advertisement, sir I [Handing papey co Victor.] 

YiCTOR [reading], — " Chiropodist and Professor of 
Corns, Warts, &c." 

Bunion. — Exactly so, sir— exactly so I 

Henri. — I vill have a professeur of ze Inglis lan- 
gazh I 

Bunion. — I understand you now, gentlemen — but the 
fault is your own [rising]. Could I do nothing for you, 
sir? [To Victor, who shakes his head.] Won't either of 
you take a box of my embrocation this morning ? An 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 153 

excellent article — recommended and patronized by all 
the clergymen of the city 

YicTOR — Thank you — not this morning. 

Bunion. — You will oblige me by accepting some of my 
circulars — [giving some to each j Good-morning, gentle- 
men I Recommend me to any of your friends who may 
need me — will you? Morning! [^IJxit.'] 

YiOTOR [^laughing], — Well, Henri I 

Henri [loalking the room and gesticulating^. — 3Ion 
Dieu! Yat a countree I Yat a countree I \_Knock.'\ 
Entrez I Non — non ! Come here I 

YiOTOR. — " Come in," — remember I 

Henri. — I vill — I vill I Yat a countree I 

Prizzle [^entering']. — A fine morning, gentlemen I I 
have the honor to present myself. I saw your advertise- 
ment this morning and I have hastened to offer my ser- 
vices to you. Be good enough to examine for j^ourselves ! 
[Handing circular to Henri, who passes it to Victor. ] - 

Henri. — Take a seat, sir I [ To Victor^ Yat she say, 
Yictor ? 

YiCTOR [reading^. — ' Ferdinand Frizzle, Professor of 
the Art Tonsorial, offers his services to the ladies and 
gentlemen of this city " You will pardon us, sir ; but my 
friend here is not very familiar with the language, and ■ 

Frizzle. — I understand you, sah I But I have the 
pleasure to speak French mj^self, sah ! Je parte Frangais 
moi meme quelquefois, Messieurs ! I can well attend to 
Monsieur's wants — parfaitement Men — -just as well as if 
he understood the language. He can tell me what he 
desires, and it shall be done to his supreme satisfaction. 
What shall it be, sah ? The beard trimmed — hair dressed 
— or, perhaps, a shampoo? I profess to be an artist in 
my department. Messieurs I I am patronized exclusively 
by the heau monde. 

Henri [who has been shrugging his shoulders, walking, 
and gesticulating^. — Pardon ! I vill have no barbare ■ 

Frizzle. — Pardon, Monsieur I Je suis professeur ! 
Yes, sah — a professor of the art of 

Henri. — Eh hien ! Monsieur le Pro-fess-eur I {dwelling 
on the word.'] I vill have ze ozer professeur ! I vill learn 
ze langazh— ze Inglis — I say ! 

Frizzle. — I comprehend you perfectly 1 In that case, 

Q2 



154 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

also, I am happy to say that I am at your disposal. I can 
instruct you in pure English, sah — the English, as spoken 
by the best class in the city, sah ! 

YiCTOR. — Excuse me — but my friend would prefer en- 
gaging elsewhere. 

Frizzle \howing profoundly']. — As you please, gentle- 
men ! Shall I have the pleasure of furnishing you with 
any cosmetics — any depilatories — any hair-washes — any 
ointm ents — any 

YiCTOR. [rmn^]. — Nothing— nothing, sir I Good-morn- 
ing. 

Frizzle. — Good-morning I Fine morning, gentlemen I 
Good-morning 1 [_Exit,'] 

Henrl — Pro-fess-eur 1 Sacre ! Yat a countree I Yat 
a countree ! [^Knoch.'] Come in — professeur, je crois! 

Sapo \_entering']. — Morning to you — just lit on your 
advertisement — short and sweet — you ought to have it in 
rhyme, though — that's the way I fix up all of mine — takes, 
sir, like hot-cakes — nothing like it I I am Professor 
Sapo — the only genuine, original, Simon-pure, true-blue, 
no-mistake soap-man ! Here you have the assortment, 
gentlemen I \_E xhihiting his wares.'] Roll up, tumble 
up, any way to get up ! Take your choice ! A cake for 
a dime ! Take your choice I Warranted to out-wash, 
out-scrub, outlast any thing in the world ! Used by the 
Shah of Persia — the Tycoon — the College of Cardinals — 
and all the crowned heads of the earth I Which do you 
take ? Your choice for a dime ! This would suit you, I 
fancy ! [^Offering a cake to Henri.] 

Henri. — Sacre I I vill have no savon! I vill have no 
savon ! I will have a professeur ! 

Sapo. — So I saw, Mr. Parleyvoo I That's why I'm here ! 
You don't know me — Professor Sapo — the only unadul- 
terated, full-strength article ! You'll find my name carved 
in letters of gold on the highest peak of the Andes, gen- 
tlemen I Your choice for a dime I Going — going ! 

YiCTOR. — My friend desires the assistance of a Professor 
who can instruct him in the language 

Sapo. — — h I Why didn't he say so, then ? But you 
couldn't have expected any thing smarter ! He's to be 
pitied — poor man — don't know our language — the only 
language worth speaking throughout the whole universal 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 155 

globe of this round earth I Won't you try a cake, though, 
gentlemen ? 

Victor. — Excuse us — not this morning. 

Sapo. — No offence, gentlemen I You ain't obliged to 
buy — but you stand in your own light — stand in your 
own light ! If you don't, you're the losers, and not I — 
so I wish you both good-bye 1 [Uxit.'] 

Henri. -^Jfi'ZZe tonnerres / Vat sail ve see any more, 
I no divine ! Vat a countree I [ Walking and gesticulat- 
ing.'] Vat a countree I 

Victor. — Patience, Henri — patience ! It is the custom 
here, I say. Your advertisement 

Henri. — Speed, mon ami — speed I Stop ze — ze — ad- 
vertisement ! 

Victor. — G^est trop tard ! [laughing,'] Patience, Henri I 
[Knock.] Come in ! 

BuMPUS [entering. Henri eyes him earnestly]. — Excuse 
me— but, seeing your advertisement, sir — [ To Victor.] 

Henri. — Zat advertisement / By gar — I 

BuMPUS. — The gentleman is a foreigner, I perceive. 
Lately arrived? 

Victor. — My friend has been here but a short time, sir, 
and desires to procure a teacher of English — a professor, 
sir I 

BuMPUS. — Hem! Very sensible in him — very You 
speak our language well — sir, very. Slight accent. Here 
long, sir? 

Victor [smiling]. — Ten years, sir. 

BuMPUS. — Oh — so long! I'm sorry I can't accommo- 
date your friend ; but it is a little out of my department. 
I can be of immense assistance to him, though- immense. 
I am Professor [at sound of word, Henri mutters 
"Sacrel" emphatically] Bumpus, sir! Yes, sir — Pro- 
fessor Bumpus — Professor of Phrenology, sir. You have 
surely heaixl of me — must have seen my name often — 
must! I lecture every evening on phrenology — every 
week-day — Sunday evenings on patent theology, sir ! I 
can benefit your friend, sir, hugely. What business does 
he intend to follow ? 

[K7iock — Henri opens— Biokrene enters.] 

A chart like this, sir — [exhibiting one] — filled up after 
careful examination of his cranium, sir — will be wortli 



156 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

thousands of dollars to him in our country, sir— thousands! 
And I charge only ten dollars for examination and chart 
— ten only! 

BiOKRENE. — Don't be misled, gentlemen! I am Pro- 
fessor \_Henri shrugs and winces'] Biokrene ! Professor 
Biokrene, at your service \howing']. And I assure you 
that it is idle to talk of estimating the force of any man, 
gentlemen, by the old, exploded S3^stem of phrenology ! 
Phrenology, gentlemen, is but the stepping-stone to 
biology — to biology, the science of sciences! What 
avails it to examine the protuberances upon the surface 
of the cranium, unless you can estimate their magnetic 
force? Nothing, gentlemen — the merest guess-work in 
the world! This instrument of mine \_ex]iibiting'\ — the 
magnetoscope — the greatest discovery of any age — en- 
ables me to do this. Let me illustrate — [^advancing to- 
ward Henri, who has been ivalking and staring.] 

Henri.— Mon Dieu ! I vill have no tooz taken ! I tell 
you no 1 \^ pushing him back.] 

Victor [interposing]. — My friend has advertised for a 
professor of the English language, sir, and 

Biokrene [taking out paper and examining]. — His 
advertisement does not read so, sir ! Look for yourself, 
sir ! [pointing to paper.] 

Henri. — I vill have a professeur to comprehend ze 
langazh — not to pull ze dent ! 

YiCTOR. — He is not thoroughly acquainted with the 
language, which will account 

Biokrene. — I will test, in a momemt, whether he can 
learn it readily — [moving toward Henri, who retreats with 
deprecating gestures] — with my magnetoscope — only 
twenty-five dollars for a complete chart. 

Victor. — Pardon — not at present, gentlemen. 

Biokrene. — You make a sad mistake, sir. Here is my 
card [handing one]. Should your Mend wish me at any- 
time to 

BuMPUS [who has been scowling defiance at Biokrene]. 
— Here is irj card, sir ! [handiiig.] And I would advise 
3^our friend, as a stranger here, to have nothing to do 
with charlatans. 

Biokrene. — Do 3^ou intend to apply that epithet to me ? 

BuMPUS. — If it fits, put it on and wear it! [Biokrene 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 157 

strikes Bumpus with magneto scope."] We'll settle this 
elsewhere. [Bushes out — Biokrene follows — noise and 
scuffling heard in hall — " Liar !" " Cheat !" " Humbug I"] 

Henri. — Yat a countree ! Mon Dieu I Yat a countree ! 

YiOTOR [laughing']. — What a shame it would be if they 
should hurt each other I 

Henri. — I say not so ! Sacre ! I vill have zay kill ze 
one and ze two! [Knock.] By gar! vat come now? 
Pro-fes-seur, I divine. Zat zhournal! zat zhournal! 
Come! 

Scrub [entering with implements of his profession]. 
— Which gemman, sah, wanted me, sah ? [boiving] I am 
Caesar Scrub, gemmen — professor of white-washin' and 
boot-cleanin', sah ! [bowing and scraping — Henri staring 
in blank amazement.] You, sah ? [to Victor.] 

YiCTOR. — Neither of us desires any thing in your line 
this morning. It is a mistake, Csesar. We want a pro- 
fessor teacher. 

Scrub [bowing himself out]. — Beg gemmen's pardon — 
I'se done gone — 'scuse me, gemmen — 'sense me! [Exit.] 

^^^m. [grasping Victor by shoulder nervously]. — Sail 
ve nevare go troo zese professeurs! Sail ve nevare — 
nevare ? Yill ze professeur arrive here no more ? 

YiCTOR [laughing]. — Patience, Henri. Patience, mon 
ami ! 

Henri. — Patience! My head so — [placing hands on 
head] — so — vat you calls him ? so virls up and down as 
no more cm be ! [Knock.] Come! Sacr-r-r / 

Blowhard [enie7^ing]. — Lucky for you! [to Henry.] 
Beg pardon — there are two of you ! Which of you gen- 
tlemen wishes to engage a professor ? 

[ Victor points to Henri. Henri, shrugging ^ points to 
Victor. ] 

YiCTOR. — My friend. Monsieur Antoine, desires the ser- 
vices 

Blowhard [to Henri, retreating and gesticulating]. — ■ 
You are very fortunate, let me tell you. Had I not bad 
my attention arrested b}^ your advertisement, I should 
have taken the next train South, in which case I know not 
into whose hands you might have fallen. As it is, you 
are safe. My name is Professor Blowhard, of the Eolian 
Voc2i\ Gymnasium. My terms are five dollars a lesson 



158 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

of one hour each for prose ; for poetry, ten dollars an 
hour. What number of lessons a week do you desire ? 

Henri. — 1 vill comprehend ze langazh, I say to ze 
professeurs -I say to you I vill have ze Ingiis lan- 
gazh professeur ! 

YiCTOR. — My friend needs assistance in speaking and 
writing the language. 

Blowhard. — The only way to learn to speak and write 
any language correctly is to begin at the beginning with 
the vowel sounds — a, e, i, o, u ! [gwen pompously and 
energetically.'] That is the foundation I Drill in the 
elementary sounds — read according to the Blowhard 
method — and you are finished speakers and writers. 
This, sir, is the only natural method. I have living wit- 
nesses of this— pupils of mine, gentlemen — in the pulpit 
and at the bar — ornaments of their respective professions. 

YiCTOR. — We will think of what you say. At present, 
my friend desires to learn to converse. 

Blowhard. — A wrong beginning — beginning at the 
end — depend upon it I You will infallibly discover that 
you have made a fatal mistake. I pity you — but the 
worst's your own. Good-morning. [Exit, vexed.'] 

Henrl — Zat be somevat good. I say — zat profes- 
seur. 

YiCTOR [laughing], — A bigger humbug than any of the 
rest ! 

Henri. — Yat you say ? Yat you call him ? 

YiOTOR. — Humbug — coquin I 

Henrl — Est-ce possible / [Knock.] Entrez ! Come 
in I [Enter Professors Catgut, Screech and Fancy.] 
Sac-r-r I Here zay come as nevare vill be I TJn — deux — 
irois ! 

Catgut My card, sir ! [ To Henry, handing.] 

Screech. — Mine ! [ To Victor, handing.] 

Fancy [feeling in pockets]. — Zounds ! I've left mine 
at home. Never mind, Professor Fancy, of Terpsichoreau 
Hall, sir ! 

YiCTOR. — Professor of the English language, sir ? 

Fancy. — Not exactly — Professor of the moA^ements of 
such American feet as are put under my care. 

Catgut. — You noticed my card, sir ! [ To Henri.] 
Prof Catgut, of the Olio — Professor of the violin, violon- 



EXCELSIOK DIALOGUES. 159 

cello, harp, harpsichord, and every stringed instrument! 
You shall have a touch of my quality. [Flays-^ 

IHenry drops card and placing hands to ears mutters 
" Sac-r-r I"] 

Screech [to Victor^. — I will sing you a plaintive air — 
very touching— you'll need your handkerchief. Ready I 
[Clearing throat, singsJ] 

Fancy. — Tell me whether you ever saw any thing more 
taking than this pas — invented expressly for my pupils 
by me. Next term commences on Monda}'' night week — 
twelve lessons for ten dollars. [Dances.'] 

[During the noise Littleman and Flourish, whose knocks 
have not been heard, enter and converse with each other.] 

Henri [enraged]. — Avay viz ze feedil — avay ! [Stamp- 
ing foot violently.] Victor ! beat zat diable viz his bruit/ 
Yic-tor I Vic-tor I call ze — ze — polees, I say 1 [yelling.] 
Sacr-r-r I 

[ Victor finally succeeds in representing the case to the 
Professors, who leave at once.] 

Littleman. — In answer to your advertisement 

Henri [moving toward Flourish]. — Zare be no adver- 
tisement — no more I [gesticulating.] 

Flourish. — I am Professor Flourish, sir I I have here 
our Lord's prayer executed with the pen — entirely with 
the pen — on the head of a pin 

Henri [with menacing gesticulations]. — Go vay — go 
vay viz me, I say I 

Victor. — You must excuse my friend, Professor ! His 
nerves have been overtaxed this morning. His advertise- 
ment has been misunderstood. He wishes a professor oi 

the English language 

[Henri walking the room with rapid steps,] 

Flourish. — Oh I [Exit.] 

Littleman. — He knows the alphabet ? 

Henri [enraged]. — Vat you say ? Know ze leetel 
lettare 1 S-s-s I By gar— g [Going toward Little- 
man.] 

Littleman.— Beg your pardon, sir — excuse me — good- 
morning 1 [Exit hastily.] 

Henrl — [Knock.] I say no more sail nevare enter 
zis — no more ' I vill no more I 

Victor. — Patience, Henri I The professor will come. 



160 EXCELSIOR DIALOaUES. 

Henri, — \_Knoching continues.'] Pro-fess-eur f S-s-s 1 
Zare be no professeur in zis countree I Yat a countree I 
Yat a countree I He sail no entare 1 

YiCTOR \_firmly']. — Henri I 

KiLLUM lentering]. — Didn't hear me, I reckon — did ye ? 
Jest's well. Here I am, Professor Killum, of the National 
Eclectic Institute. Now what d'ye want of the Profes- 
sor? [^Taking out bottles.] Some of his electric ile — 
or his medikle diskivery — or his proponthoptegon — all of 
'em good for every thin' and suthin' to boot 1 Which'U ye 
have? \_Going to Henri — offering an uncorked bottle.'] 
Jest smell on't —will 3^e ? Thare's vartoo for ye ! {^placing 
near Henries nose.] 

Henri [knocking bottle out of hand]. — I vill be stran- 
geld I Nobody sail help me I Yictor — Yictor ! I sail 
say no more nevare I Not one leetel seelabel I [walking 
about.] 

Killum [to Victor]. — What's the matter with Thing- 
umbob ? 

Yictor. — He's crazy ! 

Killum. — You don't say! [Exit, moving cautiously 
toward door, eying Henri. Voice outside : " Better not 
go in there, old feller 1 He's crazy, I tell ye I"] 
[Knock — Victor opens — Henri in a rage pushes door — 
Worth entering.] 

Henri [loudly]. — Yat for you no hear, Yictor ? I say 
I vill no more nevare — not one leetel parteekel I [To 
Worth, who has regained his footing.] Go vay, I say 1 
Sacr-r-r ! 

Yictor. — Mon Dieu ! Professor Worth ! Ten thou- 
sand pardons I [pushing past Henri, grasps Worth^s hand, 
shaking heartily.] Henri, this is Professor Worth — Pro- 
fessor, my good friend, Henri Antoine 1 

Henri [stopping his walk for a moment and looking 
angrily at Worth]. — Yat I say to you, Yictor ? I say I 
vill have nevare professeur ! Hum I Yat is she I Oh ! 
sacr-r-r I Yat a countree ! Yat a countree I 

Yictor — But, Henri, I know this gentleman 1 He is 
a professor, Henri 1 Calm yourself, mon ami! 

Henrl — ^Yat you say ? He is no hog, zen — no pig- 
no — no 

Victor. — Henry has been so tried this morning that he 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 161 

was actually on the point of believing that we have no 
such personage as a professor en verite in the whole 
United States. Perhaps you saw his advertisement? 

Worth. — No. I w^as told by my colleague, Professor 
Clabot, that a countryman of his was stopping at -this 
^Dlace, and at his request I came to render him what as- 
sistance I might. 

YiCTOR. — Ten thousand thousand pardons I Here is 
l)is advertisement. [_Wo7ih reads and smiles.'] We have 
had all the plagues of Egypt upTon us this morning, and 
Henri was fairly beside himself. 

Henri [^advancing and extending hand]. — Pardon- 
humbly pardon— pro/essewr .' I vas so leetel sense ven I 
make at you 

Worth [taking hand]. — Never mind that, I beg of you 1 
You will soon become used to the ways of our people. 

Henri. — llais, mon Dieu, Professeur ! [Tearing the 
paper with advertisement in.] Yat a countree ! Yat a 
countree ! 

YiCTOR. — Pfui, Henri ! The country is good — but 
some of the people ! Well, Henri, give j^ou J03' ! [Grasp- 
ing hands all.] At last we've found THE PROFESSOR ! 

Henri. — Oui — oui! Mais vat a countree I Yat a 
countree I 

[Curtain falls.] 




11 



162 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

THE CITY AND THE COUNTRY. 

A DEBATE. 

Chairman ^rapping with gavel to secure attention'] — 
The hour of meeting having arrived, the Association will 
please come to order. This evening being set apart for a 
debate, the Secretary will read the question proposed for 
discussion, together with the names of the disputants. 

Secretary [^reads per minutes']. — The question for dis- 
cussion this evening is : Resolved, That, as a place of 
residence, the city is preferable to the country. — The dispu- 
tants upon the affirmative are Messrs. Urban, Literary, 
Culture, Convenience, Conventional and Finish: on the 
negative, Messrs. Rural, Primitive, Original, Independent, 
Clever and Homespun. 

Chair. — The discussion will be opened by Mr. Urban, 
in support of the affirmative of the resolution. 

Urban. — Mr. President 

Chair. — Mr. Urban has the floor. 

l_During the debate the various disputants busy themselves 
in taking notes of the points made by their antagonists, ob- 
serving the decorum of debate. ] 

Urban. — Mr. President, and Ladies and Gentlemen: 
In discussing the resolution, I would say, at the outset, 
that the advocates of the affirmative do not propose 
pushing the question involved to any extreme. We re- 
gard it as maintaining that, for the average man and 
woman, the average condition of life in a city is more 
favorable than for the same person in the country— by 
the terms, city and country, understanding likewise what 
should be taken as a fair sample of each. 

With the number of disputants assigned, considering 
the limitation as to time, sir, it will not, of course, be ex- 
pected of any one of us to attempt to cover the whole 
ground. So far from that, sir, I shall, so far as I am 
concerned, call attention to but a point or two of the 
many which might be adduced in support of our side of 
the question, presuming that in so doing I shall best meet 
the wishes of my colleagues and at the same time come 
somewhat nearer doing justice to our proposition. 



EXCELSIOE DIALOGUES. 163 

I advocate, sir, the claims of the city over the country 
as a place of residence upon the ground of the superior 
facilities for acquiring an education afforded by the 
former. The advantages of education I will not insult 
this audience by discussing. Everj^body concedes thus 
much. When I speak of the facilities furnished by the 
city, I do not confine myself to the better system of 
schools, both public and private, there to be found — since 
the school, however excellent, is but an adjunct, an 
auxiliary, in obtaining the desired end. I embrace in the 
term the churches, the libraries, the lectures, the press, 
the gathering of large numbers of people, the opportunity 
constantly given of seeing and hearing leading men — all 
of which the city gives us in abundance — each and all of 
which tend directly to develop and build up the man. 
Confined to no narrow circle of observation, the mind of 
an inhabitant of the city can unfold to a degree unap- 
proachable by that of one whose range of observation is 
circumscribed by the blank monotony of the country. 
Here, and here only, can one find the solitude of the in- 
dividual by himself and the solitude of the same individual 
when in a crowd "among men, but not of them ;" both 
eminently contributing to the growth of the individual. 

Indeed, I may say, sir, in conclusion, that, if a uniform 
healthy progress in mental and moral development be not 
made by the denizen of the city, the responsibility for 
such failure must rest upon the individual himself, since 
every thing conducive to such progress is at his command, 
— he lives in and breathes an atmosphere, every inhala- 
tion of which should contribute to make of him a broader, 
better, nobler man. [^Seats himself.'] 

Rural Rafter recognition by the Chair, proceeds]. — Mr. 
President : Opening this debate in behalf of the negative, 
I desire to express my hearty concurrence in the construc- 
tion placed upon the resolution by the gentleman who 
has just taken his seat. We upon the negative, sir, 
desire no extreme interpretation, but are content to dis- 
cuss this question upon the basis already indicated. 

The gentleman claims superior educational facilities for 
the city. This I deny. I agree with the gentleman that 
each of the instrumentalities to which he alluded is of im- 
portance in obtaining an education ; but I beg the gentle- 



164: EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

man to remember that we of the country can avail our- 
selves of all of them. In these days of railwaj^s and 
other means of ready intercommunication, remote must 
be that hamlet — far upon our extreme Western frontier — 
that cannot be brought in contact with each of them. 
Take the school, for example, which was but glanced at. 
The country lad may not, indeed, have, as a general 
thing, so many months' schooling at his command in the 
year as his city cousin ; yet, if the desire be in the soul — 
and without this all school attendance, whether in town 
or country, is, I was about to say, worse than nought — ■ 
if the desire to advance be his, this very fact will of itself 
impart a zest which the latter, accustomed to regard the 
school as an inevitable accompaniment of his daily life, 
can never feel. Indeed, I believe that the experience of 
our educators would corroborate my statement, that 
there is such a thing as too much schooling — what 
should be an incitement becomes a torpefying drug — what 
might, under other arrangements, be ever fresh, ever new, 
degenerates into the fiat, stale and unprofitable. 

As for the churches — granting, for the purpose of argu- 
ment mereljT-, that intellectual strength is the one thing 
requisite in the clergyman — no first-class pulpit occupant 
of the city but seeks the country often during the year 
as a relief from the wearisome treadmill round of his city 
calling. We of the country can grow, then, under his 
ministrations. The libraries, the lectures, the journals 
and magazines of the day — does the gentleman for a 
moment imagine that we are deprived of those means of 
growth ? A trip into any country section will soon dis- 
abuse his mind. 

For the education which the crowd affords, I confess I 
care but little ; nor can I comprehend why any one 
should, unless it be his aim to perfect himself in the 
varied branches of thievery and rascality, of which the 
city furnishes us so many eminent professors. 

While upon this topic of education, how happened it 
that the gentleman forgot to advance daily communion 
with the objects of Nature as an educational facility? 
Does he deny that it is such ? That facility, sir, we out- 
side barbarians assuredly have — and what its worth 



EXCELSIOli DIALOGUES. 165 

those only can appreciate who, having once enjoyed it, 
have been for a time deprived of it. 

No, sir, every educational facility which he in the town 
can enjoy, I in the country have equall^^ and in as large 
proportion — and I add thereto the study of Nature in her 
laughing and in her frowning moods — in her every mani- 
festation — from which he is utterly debarred. \^Seats 
himself. 2 

Literary \_after recognition]. — Mr. President : Relative 
to the branch of the question which has thus far been 
brought forward, it must not be forgotten that we of the 
town have in these days of railways and other means of 
ready inter-communication — to use the phraseolog}^ of the 
gentleman who preceded me — ample opportunities of 
holding that communion with Nature in all hei visible forms 
which he so much lauds as the great educational instrumen- 
tality. I suppose a man need not be, so to speak, shut up 
with Nature all his lifetime in order to learn from her teach- 
ings. Yet such would seem to be the drift of his argument. 

The gentleman's allusion to the means of communica- 
tion was rather unfortunate, it strikes me, regarded in 
one point of view ; for certainly the almost total lack of 
those means, beyond the great thoroughfares of travel, is, 
to my mind, one of the greatest drawbacks upon a resi- 
dence in the countr^^, while the existence of those means 
and your ability to enjoy them constitute one of the 
greatest advantages of the city. 

AVe are, if any thing, social beings. In town alone is 
social life to be found. In the country you are confined 
to the society of' your own family, which, if you chance, 
like mj^self, to be a bachelor, is rather a limited circle. 
If 3^ou have a friend in the country whom you desire to see, 
what assurance have you that j^ou will be able to meet 
him in the course of any year without exposing yourself 
to such inconveniences as must, of necessity, put any 
friendship to the severest test ? Of the twelve months, 
3^ou are in mud, snow, or slush during at least six— in 
dust and sand for three more — and of the remaining 
three, scarcely more than one — God's glorious golden 
October — is at your disposal, if you incline to develop 
your social instincts. " Can't you ride ?" some may sug- 
gest. Yes, if you own a horse. But, sir, you must 



166 EXCELSIOB DIALOGUES. 

remember that we are dealing with the average man ; and 
he — you will find, I think, by examining the assessor's lists 
— does not chance to be in that delightful condition. 
Deprived of the assistance of that quadruped, you are 
thrown, for the greater part of the year, upon your own 
self for society — a poor enough resource for the most of 
us, for few there be who can in truth say " my mind to 
me a kingdom is," if that kingdom be worth a groat. 
As an inevitable consequence we become narrow-minded, 
bigoted, selfish, hypochondriac. To this enforced isola- 
tion I attribute in no small degree the fact that our 
farmers and our farmers' wives form such a large percent- 
age of the inmates of our insane asylums. They ma}^ be 
owners of horses ; but their early years are consumed in 
toilsome work to enable them to pay for them, and when 
once they can call them their own, the habit of non-in- 
tercourse has become fastened upon them, and they settle 
down, American-Chinese that they are, in their seclusion, 
from which they never emerge, save to visit the grave, or 
that other living grave of which I just made mention. 

Were it only for the superior advantages for social 
intercourse afforded by the city, Mr. President, I should 
say, commend me to a residence there among men, women 
and children — yes, bachelor that I am, I include the last ; 
since I am more than bachelor — I am man, and therefore 
social — among men, women and children, whose hands I 
can grasp, whose tones I can hear, whose features I can 
study, with whom I can enjoy a chat as often as we 
mutually agree, independent of the state of the roads, of 
the humors of the weather, of any of' those thousand 
annoyances which in the country fret and worry the 
social man's life out of him. [Seats himself. 2 

Primitive. — Really, Mr. President, in what a woful 
plight the gentleman leaves us countrymen! Working 
away the most of what little brains we have in early life, 
leaving just enough for us to go crazy on, so as to end 
our days free from care in a lunatic hospital I Too poor 
to own a horse, and cursed with friends whom we can't 
visit unless we walk — and we can't walk, unless up to our 
eyes in mud or sand I Candidly, isn't it horrible ? 

Mr. President, I own eighty-seven acres of arable land 
in that heaven-forsaken portion of the earth — the country 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 167 

— and I tell you, upon my honor as a countryman, I 
wouldn't sell it for a mill less an acre since listening to 
the gentleman's remarks than I would have held it at 
before he commenced his tirade. So you can see his 
philippic hasn't had much effect upon me. But I suppose 
I shall be classed with the narrow-minded and bigoted 
and selfish and so forth people that we Chinese all are, if 
you believe the gentleman. 

Mr. President: This shilly-shallying with men and 
women which the gentleman stj^les society is, to my mind, 
the curse of the age. It saps all manliness, eats the core 
out of individuality, turns the dabbler in it into the 
veriest weather-cock that trembles at each whiff of the 
wind. He glories in his weakness. This hanging on the 
coat-tails of other men for your opinions is the bane of a 
high civilization, such as is claimed for our cities and 
large towns. Great cities are great sores on the body 
politic, said Jefferson, and I, for one, agree with him. 
This loneliness of the country which the gentleman so 
much derided is after my own heart, as I believe it is 
after the heart of any man — and when I say a man, 
I mean a man — broad-shouldered, full-chested, sound- 
limbed, independent, self-reliant, the product of the 
country ; not a whiffet, a hanger-on, a ninny, a nobody, 
to be brained with any lady's fan — such as the town 
spawns upon us in the country when the dog-star rages 
and the sultry heat glared back from their bricks and 
their mortar makes their tongues to loll like 

Literary. — Mr President: I call the gentleman to 
order. He cannot indulge in personalities here. ^JEx- 
citedly.'] 

Chair. — The gentleman will observe the proprieties of 
debate. 

Primitive. — I will endeavor, Mr. President, to do so ; 
but, if I should fail, this audience will overlook it, seeing 
that at no distant day I am to be an inmate of those 
houses appointed for almost all living farmers \lo,ugliter'\. 
I had but a word or two more to say, Mr. President, when 
my nervous friend interrupted me. I'll say them now, 
and then I'm done. The grand thing, to my eye, con- 
nected with life in the country is, that you are thrown 
upon your own strength. You amount to just exactly 



168 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

what you're worth, and you are worth just what you 
make yourself to be. There may not be so many people 
around you ; but to me it is the rarest pleasure to be able 
to turn around without running my elbow into a dozen 
persons for whom I care nothing and who care nothing 
for me. Not so many — but what there are 3^ou know, and 
they know you. And, if you have friends, they're friends 
in summer and in winter. You know where to find them. 
Even if you don't see them but one month in a year, j^ou 
know they'll be all the gladder to see you than if you 
were boring them every day ; and when you go to see 
them, you're not afraid of seeing their shutters up and a 
placard upon the door, *' Taking an account of stock." 
No, Mr. President, for genuine sociality within sensible 
bounds there's no place like the country. That's about 
what I have to say. [^Seats himself amidst laughter.^ 

Culture. — Mr. President : I am glad that we are all 
in such a merry mood ; for it shows that, whatever dis- 
agreement there may be among us, we are inclined to put 
the pleasantest phase upon it, and our debate, as it pro- 
gresses, becomes more juicy and joyous. The utter dearth 
of amusements, of necessary recreation for the mind and 
the body, is, it must be granted, a decided disadvantage 
on the side of life in the country. In the city we are not 
subjected to this. Here the bow needn't be always bent, 
nor the arrow ever on the string. Such a relaxation is, 
I contend, a necessity for man. Without it, his life is a 
burden grievous to be borne. He was created with a 
desire for such refreshment, and it is the province of the 
wise law-giver to provide for the judicious gratincation 
of that desire, as well as to correct any misuse or abuse 
of the provisions made. 

The absence of such healthful, invigorating recreations 
contributes largely to that sombre sameness, that blank 
monotony of life with which the country has this evening 
been so justly charged. [/SzYs.] 

Original. — I agree with the gentleman, Mr. President, 
that amusements are necessary for man ; but I contend 
that in the country we come as near hitting the golden 
mean between too many and too few as it is, at present, 
possible for man to come. For it must be borne in nund 
that there is no species of amusements which can bt* 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 169 

called harmless of which we do not also have our share, 
We are not, to be sure, cloyed with them, so that, sick 
with stirfeit, we turn with loathing away from what should 
be a feast of joy and delight for us. Here, too — as was 
so well claimed in behalf of schools by the gentleman who 
opened this debate on the negative — we are by virtue of 
our position better enabled to extract the jorofit which 
should be secured. Do gentlemen suppose that a holiday 
to a boy in town carries a fraction of the weight of jo}^ 
with it that the same gift does to a boy in the countrj'' ? 
[Sits.^ 

Convenience. — Mr. President : Among the weak points 
of a life in the country, as contrasted with a life in the 
city, one has been brought to my notice in a more marked 
manner than any other. This is undoubtedly owing to 
the peculiar position of myself and family as a collec- 
tion of confirmed invalids. I allude to the difficulty of 
procuring suitable medical attendance when and as you 
need it. This may appear rather a selfish way of stating 
the question ; but I cannot believe that myself and 
family are rare exceptions. On the contrary, I am of 
the opinion that we should be regarded rather as repre- 
sentatives of a class hj no means small, whose condition 
is such that a residence in the country would necessarilj'" 
involve responsibilities so great that few heads of families 
would care to assume it. 

Indeed, sir, I entertain no doubt that many a life has 
been lost in the country which might — nay, would — have 
been spared had the admirable convenience in regard to 
medical attendance which the city exhibits been at hand 
in the countr}^ 

I do not mean, sir, to say that there are no competent 
physicians in the country. Far from it ; but they are few 
and far between. The field for the exercise of their talents 
is too limited, the compensation too paltry, and the toil 
involved too great. I speak in this matter not without 
experience, having in my younger days ridden many a 
weary mile over dreary roads, up and down seemingly 
endless hills, night after night of discomfort, as a com- 
panion of a relative whose doom it was, in his capacity 
of country doctor, to go through such a disheartening 
routine, year in and year out, and that for the merest 



170 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

pittance, which was not unfrequentl}^ never given, or, if 
given at all, doled out in barter at the highest rates of 
the most distant market. • 

To those, sir, who have not suffered as I have, and as 
those near and dear to me have, the point I make may 
seem of trifling importance ; but I can assure all such, 
Mr. President, that they labor under a serious mistake. 
[Seats himself.'] 

Independent. — While commiserating, sincerely com- 
miserating, Mr. President, the unfortunate condition in 
which my friend and his family are placed, I cannot allow 
any considerations simply personal to be adduced as 
arguments against our side of the question. 

It is true, Mr. President, as the gentleman has remarked, 
that we have not an abundance of first-rate physicians 
among us ; and one of the reasons which was brought 
forward to account for it is, for me, the strongest argu- 
ment for a country life that can be made. Why this 
dearth of physicians — I will not say of good physicians — 
but of physicians generally ? Simply and solely, sir, 
because we do not need them. Our life is too simple, 
our tastes too primitive, our habits too regular, to make 
a paying practice for a physician, except in those very 
rare instances when an epidemic, swarming from the filth 
and miasms of the city, settles upon us. 

What is life, Mr. President, whether in city or country, 
without health ? And is not the objection just urged by 
the gentleman himself proof of the strongest kind that 
we in the country are blessed with health to a degree 
unknown by residents in town ? 

If my friend would allow me to offer a suggestion — 
and I am sure he will take it in good part, since we all 
know he is one of the very few whom no amount of ill- 
health can rob of that most delightful of adornments, a 
cosy geniality of nature — [ Convenience bows his head in 
acknowledgment of the complimenf] — I would say that, 
even in his own case, I am firm in the faith that a trans- 
fer of himself and his family to the country — though he 
be consigned to the tender mercies of such of the healing 
craft as he will find there — will work more in the way of 
cure than the ablest medical talent of the city can secure. 
[Seats himself. Convenience shakes head negatively.'] 



ESCELSiOR DIALOGUES. 171 

Conventional. — Mr. President: As the question ia 
taking a turn bearing upon the comparative comforts of a 
life here or there, what have gentlemen upon the other side 
to set against those latter-day necessities of gas and 
telegraph communication? The former of these will 
assuredly be deemed of no slight importance by those 
whose fate it may have been to be tortured by the half- 
light, half-darkness of the so-called strained oil of the 
country grocery, or— supposing the person could not 
endure that strain — by the glare and smoke and stench 
of the kerosene, or — chiefest, wretchedness for those who 
fain would read or write by night — by the darkness-made- 
visible of the tallow dip, no matter how many to the 
pound — the more candles the more darkness. Contrast 
with any of these gross insults to, or miserable apologies 
for "holy light, ofispring of heaven first-born," the mild, 
mellow liquidness of lustre which gas yields you, and 
who, that thinks of the long winter nights, created it 
would seem expressh' for reading and meditation, would 
such fardels bear as the country condemns you to in this 
regard ? 

Then, too, Mr. President, to talk with your friends, or 
the absent one, or your business correspondent, hundreds 
of miles away, with nearly the same ease and rapidity as 
if either were sitting across the room — what have our 
country friends to say to this advantage of ours ? They 
may say — and I grant it — that they, too, have this 
facility ; but it is only at detached points — it does not 
enter into the web and woof of their hourly life as with us. 

So, upon the question of the blessings of gas light, they 
may afiect to scout the night as the time for study, devot- 
ing it to the drowsy god, and read us homilies on the advan- 
tage of early rising and the value of the young morning 
hours for study ; but, sir, no man at all familiar with the rec- 
ommendations of advanced sanitarians, who find in these 
hours little else than miasms and bugs and frogs and un- 
healthfulness, would dare assume any such ground. 

I confess, Mr. President, to no little curiosity to learn 
how our friends upon the other side are to offset those 
comforts which I have glanced at. \^Sits.'] 

Clever, — The gentleman's curiosity shall be gratified, 
Mr. President, so far as it is in my power. While I do 



172 EXCELSioE Dialogues. 

not deny that comfort is, to a certain extent, obtainable 
from the matters to which he has so earnestly called our 
attention, contending, at the same time, as he has hinted 
by way of anticipation, that, so far as one is concerned, 
we are sharers with him, and touching the other, that 
science will, at no distant day, open up to our country 
homes the advantages of the other, improved and 
cheapened — I, in behalf of the country, whose side I es- 
pouse, not merely because assigned so to do, but from 
earnest conviction, set over and against these and all 
other assumed advantages of the city, the greatest bles- 
sing of all — pure air. 

I am well aware, Mr. President, that it would be a 
thankless task to endeavor to convince our thoroughly- 
posted city men that they have scarcely an infinitesimal 
quantity of this valuable— say, rather, indispensable — 
commodity at their command ; that a whifF of it, should 
their lungs chance to inhale it, would produce much the 
same effect upon their system as the inhalation of highly 
oxygenated gas. A thankless task — and yet it is, never- 
theless, to all intents and purposes, true. 

Their breathing apparatus has been so long accustomed 
to deal with the deleterious compound made up of the 
reekings of sewers and cess-pools and decayed vegeta- 
tion and defunct animals and human filth, which they call 
air, that, I fear me much, had it once to do with the pure, 
unadulterated article, combined as the chemists prescribe, 
it would hardly know what to do with the rarity. The 
old lady, 3^ou will remember, Mr. President— she lived in 
town, of course — had become so accustomed to what she 
called good milk, that when her milkman, who had de- 
termined to lead a better life, as an honest man, eschew- 
ing chalk and water, furnished her with genuine milk, 
she discharged him incontinently, with many an exclama- 
tion against the rascality of the world in general and milk- 
men in particular. So I apprehend it would be, in the 
case I have put, with our city friends. 

The truth is — but you cannot make them believe it — 
they would not know pure air, if they should encounter 
it. We prize it as our greatest blessing ; they would be 
sorely disappointed in it. So, Mr. President, was the 
London cockney about the sunrise. Having heard such a 



EXCELSIOB DIALOGUES. 173 

to-do made all his lifetime about the splendors of that 
performance of nature, he sat up one night that he might 
be in time to witness it the next morning. Ascending a 
hill, he waited the moment of His Majesty's appearance. 
Slowly, at length, the god of day appeared above the 
horizon. His companion called his attention to the 
luminary. Our cockney friend stared a few moments, 
when, unable longer to repress his disgust, " Faugh !" 
said he, " His that the way hit's done ? Hi thought hit 
just went up like a rocket — sol" suiting the action to 
the word ! ^Seats himself — general laughter.^ 

Chairman [looking at watch']. — The time allotted for 
debate upon the general merits of the resolution having 
expired, Mr. Finish will close in behalf of the affirmative, 
to be followed by Mr. Homespun for the negative. 

Finish. — Mr. President: While I yield obedience to 
that article of our Constitution as an association which 
forbids the disputant who closes a debate upon either side 
from entering into general debate and restricts him to a 
summing-up, merely, of the points claimed to have been 
made by the side which he advocates, I must upon this 
occasion express my regret that I am not allowed to say 
a word, at least, in reply to the gentleman who has just 
closed. 

[Cries from affirmative^ ** Go on I" " Go on I" Negative, 
"No I" "No!" 

Chairman [rapping"]. — Members of the Association 
will please preserve order. The rule is imperative, and 
cannot be suspended, save by a two-thirds vote of the 
members present. [Finish sits.] 

Literary. — I move, Mr. President, a suspension of the 
rule. 

[ The motion is seconded, put, and declared lost, after a 
standing vote has been called for.] 

Finish. — Inferring, Mr. President, from the vote just 
taken that the Association have heard enough from our 
side of this question, I will content mj^self and oblige 
them by a brief summing-up of the arguments which we 
think we have brought forward to establish the affirma- 
tive of the resolution, that as a place of residence the 
city is preferable to the country. 

1. Because of the superior educational facilities afforded. 



174 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

including therein every instrumentality whicli tends di* 
rectly or indirectly to develop man. 

2. Because of the greater facilities for social intercourse, 
growing out of the better condition of roads and the 
ready command of cheap means of conveyance in un- 
pleasant weather. 

3. Because of the greater variety and number of amuse- 
ments, without which man fails to be all that he was 
intended to be. 

4. Because of the larger number of capable medical 
attendants, whose services will, at one time or another, be 
called into requisition by the most of us. 

5. Because of the convenience of gas-light and tele- 
graphic communication. \^Seats himself.'] 

Chairman. — Mr. Homespun will close the debate. 
Homespun. — Mr. President : The negative claim to 
have established the following propositions : 

1. That so far as educational facilities are concerned, 
the country, within reasonable limits, is not surpassed by 
the city, while it opens to all the book of Nature, sealed 
to them in the town. 

2. That the kind of social intercourse afforded by the 
country, while not so promiscuous as that of the city, is 
3^et more serviceable, as it brings one in contact with more 
reliable people, and, from its limitation, throwing one 
more upon his own resources, tends to make of him more 
of a man. 

3. That the amusements of the country, though fewer 
than those of the city, do yet recreate more, as they do 
not cloy or surfeit. 

4. That, although the number of capable medical at- 
tendants in the country is less than in the cit^^, yet as 
this results from the better state of general health in the 
former, it is to be counted a decided advantage. 

5. That greater than any physical convenience to be 
found in the city is the inestimable blessing of pure air. 
ISits.'] 

Chairman. — It is made my duty as Chairman of Debate 
to give my decision in favor of the affirmative or of the 
negative of the resolution. In doing this I am to be 
guided exclusively by the weight of the arguments brought 
forward. What may be my individual opinion as to the 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



175 



merits is not to influence, nor am I allowed to enter into 
the reasons which force my conclusion. 

Conlining myself, then, strictl}^ to the limits prescribed, 
I decide that, so far as the weight of arguments adduced 
this evening is concerned [^disputants await the decision 
eagerly^, the supporters of the negative [countenances of 
affirmative drop —corresponding elation on part of nega- 
tive'] have the best of the debate. 

[^Finish moves an adjournment, which is carried.'] 




176 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 



TRYING TO KEEP UP THE APPEAR-^ 
ANCE OF A GENTLEMAN. 

CHARACTERS. 
Dash, a moneyless dandy. 

^,7- ' y Boarders at same house with Dash. 
Wright, j 

Mr. Brov/n, a tailor. 

Mrs. Bolton, landlady. 

Betty, a servant. 



Scene I. — Dash at home. Enter Mr, Brown, 

Brown. — Good-evening, Mr. Dash. 

Dash. — Good-evening. Take a seat, Mr. Brown, 

B. — I quite congratulate mj^self on finding jou at 
home, Mr. Dash. I have called a number of times, but 
have never been so fortunate as to meet with you till 
now. 

D. — I have been from home very frequently of ,late, 
that is true. 

B. — Times are pretty hard with us mechanics now, Mr. 
Dash. I have called to see if you could pay me for that 
suit of clothes I made you I 

D. — I am very sorry, Mr. Brown ; it is really impossible 
for me to pay you this evening. You have called in an 
unlucky moment, for I have no money about me at 
present. 

B.— That is the way with you. Always having some 
excuse. You are the hardest man to get a little money 
out of I ever saw. I can't tell for my part how you 
manage to keep up the appearance of a gentleman, for 
you never have any money now-a-da^^s. 

D. — I do not think that is any of your business. 

B. — I shall make it my business, if you do not tip me 
over a little cash before long. I have asked for it about 
as often as I am going to. I shall go down to 'Squire 
Brinton, to see if he can tell me a way to get it. 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 177 

D. — Indeed, Mr. Brown, there is no need of your get- 
ting in a passion about it. If you will only wait a few 
days longer, I will have the money for j^ou. 

B. — Well, I will wait for a week, but at the expiration 
of that time I must have it. I will leave you the bill 
[Brown hands Dash a piece of paper'], and you may call 
and leave the money. Good-evening, sir I 

\_Exit Brown.] 

D. [soliloquizing.] — Well, really, he has gone off in a 
better humor than I expected he would, for I must own I 
began to get a little scared. I don't know how I am to 
keep up much longer. There is the landlady, too, she 
will be wanting some money before long. Hark! there 
she comes now. 

[Enter Landlady.] 

Mrs. Bolton. — I have just stepped in to see if you will 
settle your board-bill, Mr. Dash — it has been two months 
since we last settled. You must pay more punctually or 
find other lodging. 

D. — How very unfortunate I The gentleman who 
just left was collecting a bill which took pretty much 
all ^my loose change, but I will have it for you in a few 
days. 

Mrs. B. — You will oblige me if you will, for I have 
use for the money and should like to have it. 

[Exit Mrs. Bolton.] 

' D. [soliloquizing.] — Well, there, I have promised to 
pa}^, but I don't know where the money is to come 'from 
to do it with. I shall have to go to work — tailor, land- 
lad}", washerwoman, and heaven knows how many more 
I owe. I'll hang, drown, or shoot mj-self No! I'll go and 
marry 'Squire xBrinton's daughter Sallie — the old fellow 
has money enough to keep me a gentleman all the days 

of my 

[Enter Mr. Biggs.] 

Mr. Riggs [interrupting]. — Hallo, there, Dash, what on 
earth are you mutteiing about ? One might judge from 
your looks jou were going to hang yourself. 

D. — Why, Riggs, how came you to guess so near ? I 
H2 12 



178 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

was thinking about getting married, and you know that 
is pretty nearl}^ as bad. 

R. — Get married ! Wh}^, Dash, what in the name of 
all that's bright put that in your head ? You surely have 
not discovered that you have a heart, and some fair angel 
has won it. Get married I Well, in the name of all that's 
strange, how came you to think of it ? 

D. — Sit down here, Riggs, and I will tell you all about 
it. I may as well make a clean breast of it at once as 
not. Well now, Riggs, you see the little bit of money 
my uncle left me is about spun, and you know I'm in 
debt over head and ears, and how to get out of it I can- 
not tell. I feel m3^self to be too much of a gentleman to 
go to work, so 1 have come to the conclusion either to 
hang myself or hunt up some rich damsel and get married. 
I believe I will prefer the latter. 

R. — Y-e-s, Dash, but suppose you cannot find one who 
will have you ? 

D. — No fear of that. You know the goddess of beauty 
has been very liberal in bestowing a goodly share to me ; 
besides, girls set their hearts on the cut of a coat and the 
curl of a moustache, and I am just in the tip of the mode. 

R. — Yes, that you are ; but what lady will be so for- 
tunate as to have the offer of your hand and heart ? 

D. — Why, there is old 'Squire Brinton's daughter 
Sallie. She is not one of the wittiest girls in the world, 
to be sure, and besides she is a little older than 1 care to 
marry, but then her father has plenty of cash, and money 
makes up all deficiencies. 

R. — Yes, money will do it. How soon do you propose 
making a strike ? 

D. — Why, now — right off — the sooner the better. We 
will go sing her a song to-night. You help me. You 
know the serenade called '' Wake, lady, wake." 

R. — Yes ; but if I assist you, I shall come in for a share 
— not of the bride, but the old fellow is pretty feeble and 
cannot last long, and when j^ou get all things in your own 
hands, do not forget your old acquaintance. 

D. — Xo, that I shall not ; but come, let's be off. 
^Exit Dash and Eiggs.'] 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 179 



Sc£N£ II. — Re-enter Dash and Rtggs^ who sing — Jir^ 
Come^ come away, 

** Wake, lady, wake, from sweet sleep reposing, 
The stars to-night are shining bright, 

Then wake, wake, I pray I 
Oh, wake and list a while to me, 
A song of love I'll sing to thee, 
Of hope, love, fidelity ; 

Then wake, wake, I pray. 

**A heart that is true, within my bosom beating, 
I'll give to thee, if thou wilt be 

My bride, blithe and gay. 
Come, come and bless my home on earth, 
For all, full well I know thy worth, 
And in peace, joy and mirth. 

Will pass time away. 

"Then speak, lady, speak, thy lover doth implore thee. 
One word of thine ; wilt thou be mine ? — 

Oh, speak, speak, I pray " 

[^A black woman puts her head out through the curtain, 
and squalls ouf] — Gemman, if it be'es me you come to 
ser'nade, sing some fash'nable air. 

[^Gentlemen exeunt crest-fallen.^ 



Scene III. — Messrs. Dash^Riggs and Wright at hrealfasi 
table, 

Wright — Dash, you and Riggs look as if you had the 
blues pretty badly this morning. I lay a wager you have 
been out on some love-scrape last night. 

R. — You bet we were ; and if we didn't make a pretty 
thing of it, I wouldn't say so ! 

W. — Ha, ha I what's in the wind now ? 

R. — That's Dash's secret. 

D. — Oh, well I Wright will not blow — let him hear the 
joke. 

R. — Dash and I went down to old 'Squire Brmton's 



180 EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 

last night to serenade Sallie. We had just stationed 
ourselves in our most graceful position, and were doing 
the thing bewitchingly, when who should put her head 
out of the window but an old nigger woman, and squall 
out some of her pesky darkey gibberish, and we were 
glad to sneak off for fear we would attract attention. 
And to make matters worse, as we left the window, we 
heard a merry laugh that didn't sound a bit like a 
darkej^'s. 

W. — That is just like some of Sallie's tricks Ha I ha! 

D. — I should say, one of Sallie's tricks. We only got 
under the wrong window. I shall try it again, one of 
these nights. 

W. — 'Twill be of no use, for Sallie will not thank you. 

R, — I will bet fifty dollars that Dash and she are mar- 
ried one of these days. 

W. — Down with your money. I'll take that bet. 

K. — Well, now, don't you think they will be ? 

W. — No matter what I think ; where's the fifty dollars ? 
Eh 1 back out, will you ? 

R.— No. What will we do with it ? 

W. — Let Dash hold the wager. He's the party con- 
cerned, but we will trust to his honor. 

D. [_takes the money. 2 — Now, gentlemen, if Sallie and 
I are married within what time ? 

R. — Six months. 

W.— All right. 

D — If we are married within six months, I hand this 
money to Riggs as his property ; but if we are not mar- 
ried v/ithin that period, the money is Wright's, and I 
shall return it into his hands. Do I understand you 
aright ? 

W.— Perfectly. I feel pretty sure I shall win. 

R. — Do not be too sure ; remember. Dash is a captor 
of women's hearts. 

W. — Well, I do not fear if he is — but how time flies ; it 
is late. Let us take a stroll this morning. 

D. — I hope you'll have the goodness to excuse me. I 
have some letters to write. 

R. — A woman's excuse; but I suppose we will have to 
accept it. Come, Wright. 

W. — Some important business, I suppose ; but it is not 



EXCELSIOR DIALOGUES. 181 

with Sallie Brinton, for she and I have been engaged 
these three months. 

[_Exit Wright and Biggs.'} 

D. \_soliloquizing.'] — Wright and Sallie engaged ! whew 1 
If that don't beat all between earth and heaven I Sallie 
engaged ! Well, there's no show for me, for when her 
mind's made up, it stands — dumb as she is. [ Walks about 
— ivhistles softly.} One hundred dollars and some change 
besides — luck's on my side jet. I'll take it and go where 
Wright, Riggs, and tailor, will never hear — no, nor land- 
lady, eith 

\_Enter landlady, in haste.'] 

Mrs. B. — No, you won't go, neither, Mr. Dash, till you 
pay me what jou. owe me, or I shall 

D. [surprised.}— Why, Mrs. Bolton, who said any 
thing about my going ? Surely, you are mistaken. 

Mrs B. — No, I'm not mistaken, either. You should 
not speak quite so loud when alone. You have the 
money. I must have what you owe me ; the bill is forty 
dollars. 

D. — I shall not pay you now : wait till I am ready 
[turning to go}. 

Mrs. B. [at the door.} — Betty, Betty, bring the broom, 
quick. 

[Enter Betty, with the hroom.} 

Mrs. B. — Bett^y, Dash is treating me shamefully — is 

going to leave without paying his board. Suppose you 

try the strength of A^our shoulders and that broom over 

his back ; there are more ways than one to settle accounts. 

[Betty advances with hroom raised.} 

D. — Oh, yes, Mrs. Bolton, I will pay you [pays her}, 
I am very sorry you thought me in earnest. I had no 
thought of leaving you ; but if you request it, I can soon 
(ind another home. 

Mrs. B. — Not another daj^ will I trust 3^ou ; so pack off 
as soon as convenient. Come, Betty. Good-morning. 
[Exit.} 

D. — Well, I wish I hadn't talked quite so loud ; but 
I'm off now, and Wrio-ht may take Sallie, and be hanged 
t?o him 1 [Exit ] 



Shoemaker^s Best Selections 




For Readings and Recitations. Nunr 
bers I to 24 now issued. 

Teachers, Readers, Students, and all 
persons who have occasion to use books 
of this kind, concede this to be the best 
series of speakers published. The dif- 
ferent numbers are compiled by leading 
elocutionists of the country, who have 
exceptional facilities for securing selec- 
tions and whose judgment as to their merits is invaluable. 
No trouble or expense is spared to obtain the very best 
readings and recitations, and much material is used by 
special arrangement with other publishers, thus securing 
:he best selections from such American authors as Long- 
fellow, Holmes, Whittier, Lowell, Emerson, Alice and 
Phoebe Gary, Mrs. Stowe, and many others. The fore- 
most English authors are also represented, as well as the 
eading French and German writers. The series is not 
only valuable for the readings and recitations it contains, 
but is also an attractive addition to the home library, as 
the selections make interesting reading as short stories. 
Paper binding, each 30 cents ; cloth, 50 cents. 
S^^Special — For a limited time we are offering the 
full set of 24 numbers, in paper binding, at the special 
price of ^4.80, and in cloth binding at ^8.00. 

For brief descriptions of a few of the most popular pieces 
Ai each number of this series, see pages immediately follow- 
ing. It is not to be understood that the pieces described are 
the only ones in the book. Each number contains from 
seventy =five to one hundred pieces. 



NUMBER ONE 



Abraham Lincoln, by Henry Ward 
Beecher. A eulogy on the martyred 
president, , 

Annie and Willie's Prayer, an excellent 
Christmas piece. 

Betsy and I are out, by Will Carleton. 

The Blue and the Gray. For Decora- 
tion Day. 

The Boys, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
The ever popular class poem. 

The Bridge. The celebrated poem by 
Longfellow. 

The Child Wife, humorous, from David 
Copperfield. 

Bugle Song and Charge of the Light 
Brigade, by Tennyson. 

The Creeds of the Bells. Affords excel- 
lent opportunities for vocal display. 

Crossing the Carry. Humorous, by 
"Adirondack" Murray. 

Death of Little Joe and Death of Little 
Nell, by Charles Dickens. Both pa- 
thetic. 

Der Coming Man, German dialect, by 
Chas. Follen Adams. 

The Dying Christian, by Alexander 
Pope. Excellent for Sunday-schools. 

Evening at the Farm, by J. T. Trow- 
bridge. A beautiful pastoral poem. 

Experience with European Guides, by 
Mark Twain. Humorous. 

Independence Bell. For Fourth of July. 



The Irish Schoolmaster. Irish dialect 

John Maynard, thrilling and heroic. 

Launch of the Ship, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. Excellent for vocal training. 

Memory of Washington, by Edward 
Everett. For Washington's Birthday. 

The Modern Cain. Strong temperance 
piece. 

Nobody's Child. Exceedingly pathetic. 

The Old Yankee Farmer, Yankee Dia- 
lect. 

Palmerston and Lincoln. A striking 
piece of historical literature. 

Patrick Dolan's Love Letter. Irish 
courting. 

Pat's Excelsior. Irish parody on the 
original poem. 

A Piece of Bunting, 

The Relief of Lucknow and The Re 
volutionary Rising, strong patriotic 
selections. 

Scrooge and Marley. A most interest- 
ing extract from Dickens' Christmas 
Carol. 

The Smack in School. Very amusing. 

Spartacus to the Gladiators. Known 
to every school boy. 

William Tell. Thrilling and dramatic 

Will the New Year Come To-night 
Mamma? Pathetic. 

Why he Wouldn't Sell the Farm. Pa- 
thetic and patriotic. 



NUMBER TWO 



Abigail Becker. A thrilling description 

of a rescue at sea. 
Andrew Jackson, by George Lippard. 

Excellent for teaching. 
Arnold Winkelreid. A dramatic inci- 
dent in the history of Switzerland. 
The Barn Window, by Lucy Larcom. 

Good for reading classes. 
The Bells of Sh'andon, excellent for 

vocal culture. 
The Blacksmith's Story. A thrilling 

incident as a result of the War of the 

Rebellion. 
Black Ranald, by Phoebe Gary. Dra- 
matic. 
Buck Fanshaw's Funeral, by Mark 

Twain. Humorous. 
A Christmas Carol. For Christmas. 
Darius Green and His Flying Machine, 

by J. T. Trowbridge. Humorous. 
Dowe'S Flat, 1855, by F. Bret Harte. 

A story of the early days of California. 
Eva's Death. From Uncle Tom's 

Cabin, pathetic. 
Excelsior, by Henry W. Longfellow. A 

poem of world-wide popularity. 
The Ghosts, by Henry W. Longfellow. 

Extract from Hiawatha. 
Kentucky Philosophy, sometimes 

known as the " Watermillion Story." 

Negro Dialect. 
{liberty and Union. The celebrated 

speech of Paniel Webster, 



Lochinvar's Ride, by Sir Walter Scott. 
AlM^ays popular. 

The Minute Men of '75, by George Wil- 
liam Curtis. A beautiful patriotic 
address. 

Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question, 
by Mary Mapes Dodge. Irish humor. 

The New Church Organ, by Will Carle- 
ton. Spinster characterization. 

A New Year's Address, by Dr. Edward 
Brooks, A. M. 

North American Indians. Excellent 
for declamation. 

The Old Man in the Model Church. A 
pathetic old man characterization. 

Over the Hill to the Poorhouse, by Will 
Carleton. Pathetic. 

The Polish Boy. Very dramatic. 

The Puzzled Dutchman, German dia- 
lect. 

The Red Jacket. A thrilling descrip- 
tion of a fire scene. 

Rum's Maniac. Dramatic; strong tem- 
perance piece. 

Schnieder sees Leah. A German's ver- 
sion of a scene from Leah the For- 
saken. 

The Soldier's Reprieve. A beautiful 
storv told of President Lincoln. 

The Spanish Armada, by T. B. Macau- 
lav. Historic and dramatic. 

Washington as a Civilian, For Wash- 
ington's Birthday, 



NUMSER THREE 



tfhe American Flag, by Joseph Rod- 
man Drake. Patriotic. 
Bardell and Pickwick, by Charles 

Dickens. The famous trial scene. 
The Baron's Last Banquet. Dramatic. 
The Battle of Beal an' Duine, by Sir 

Walter Scott. A strong war poem. 
The Dutchman's Serenade. German 

dialect. 
The Eagle's Rock. Very dramatic. 
The Famine. From " Hiawatha." 
A Florentine Letter ; From Exile ; The 

Gladiator ; all dramatic. 
Good-night, Papa. Beautiful temper- 
ance recitation. 
The Hypochondriac. Humorous, 
If I Should Die To-night. Suitable for. 

Sunday-schools. 
The Indian Chief to the White Settler, 

by Edward Everett. Popular prose 

declamation. 
Kit Carson's Ride, by Joaquin Miller. 

A stirring incident of prairie life. 
The Kitchen Clock, by James Vance 

Cheney. Humorous and exceedingly 

popular. 
Laughin' in Meeting, by Harriet 

Beecher Stowe. Humorous, 
Licensed to Sell ; or. Little Blossom. 

Temperance. 
Maud MuUer, by John G. Whittier. 

Always acceptable. 



The Monster Cannon, by Victor Hug©, 
Dramatic description. 

National Monument to Washington. 
For Washington's Birthday. 

Ode on the Passions, by Collins. Ex- 
cellent for voice culture. 

The Painter of Seville. Strong and 
very popular. 

Parrhassius and the Captive, by N. P. 
Willis. Dramatic. 

Poor Little Jim. Pathetic story of the 
mines. 

Power of Habit, by John B. Gough. 
Striking temperance selection. 

Reaching the Early Train, by Max 
Adler. Plumorous. 

Reply to Mr. Corry, by H. Grattan. 
Forensic oratory. 

Rock of Ages. Contains singing parts. 

The Senator's Dilemm.a, by James De 
Mille. Humorous. 

Signs and Omens. German dialect. 

Tell on His Native Hills. Patriotic. 

The Three Fishers, by Charles Kings- 
ley. Tender and pathetic. 

The Two Glasses, by Ella Wheeler 
Wilcox. Temperance. 

The Vagabonds, by J. T. Trowbridge, 
Pathetic, dramatic, and always ac- 
ceptable. 

Woman, by Tennyson. A pleasing 
tribute to the sex. 



NUMBER FOUR 



The Angels of Buena Vista, by John G. 

Whittier. A very dramatic battle 

scene. 
The Battle of Bunker Hill. Strong 

patriotic poem. 
Battle of Lookout Mountain, by George 

H. Boker. A thrilling description. 
Battle Hymn of the Republic, by 

Julia Ward Howe. Stirring patriotic 

poem. 
The Black Horse and His Rider, by 

Charles Sheppard. A fine prose pa- 
triotic declamation. 
The Burning Prairie, by Alice Carey. 

Dramatic. 
The Cause of Temperance, by John B. 

Gough. Strong temperance piece. 
Centennial Oration, by Henry Armitt 

Brown. Fine prose declamation. 
The Christmas Sheaf. A Norwegian 

Christmas story. 
Curfew Must Not Ring To-Night, by 

Rose Hartwick Thorpe. Familiar 

but always popular. 
Deacon Munroe's Story. Humorous 

characterization. 
The Declaration of Independence. Very 

convenient for Fourth of July occa- 
sions. 
Dora, by Tennyson. Dramatic char- 
acterization. 
The Fire. A dramatic description. 
The Gambler's Wife. Pathetic and 

dramatic. 



The Ghost. Sometimes known aa 
"Abel Law's Ghost." Quaint Yan- 
kee humor. 

Grandmother's Story. An old wo. 
man's story of the Battle of Bunker 
Hill. 

The Great Beef Contract, by Mark 
Twain. Exceedingly humorous. 

Judge Pitman on Various Kinds of 
Weather, bv Max Adler. Humorous. 

Kentucky Belle, by Constance Feni- 
more Woolson. A very popular reci- 
sation describing an incident of the 
Civil War. 

ALeap Year Wooing, by David Macrae. 
Humorous. 

A Man's a Man for a' That, by Robert 
Burns. Popular Scotch dialect 
poem. 

No God. Strong moral selection. 

Ode to the Deity. A fine oratorical 
piece. 

Ode to the Legislature, by John G. 
Saxe. A satirical poem. 

The Rationalistic Chicken. Humor- 
ous. 

The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe. Fa- 
miliar to all but still given by the best 
readers. 

Rienzi's Address. Stirring declama- 
tion. 

Tribute to Washington. For Wasb 
ington's Birthday. 

The UBion. A patriotic poem. 



KtJMBER FiVie 



r&» Ager. A humorous description of 

a sufferer with chills and fever. 
Archie Dean, by Gail Hamilton. A 

selection of the coquettish order. 
Bannock-Burn, by Robert Burns. A 

stirring Scotch poem. 
The Bride of the Greek Isle, by Mrs. 

Hemans. Dramatic. 
The Brook, by Tennyson. Always 

popular. 
Budge's Version of the Flood, by John 

Habberton. Child characterization. 

Very amusing-. 
Cataline's Defiance. Familiar but 

always acceptable. 
Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery. 

The celebrated speech of Abraham 

Lincoln. 
The Flood of Years, by William Cullen 

Bryant. Strong"? oratorical selection. 
Hans and Fritz, German dialect. 
He Giveth His Beloved Sleep, by Mrs, 

Browning. A beautiful spiritual poem. 
Heroes of the Land of Penn, by George 

Lippard. Patriotic. 
How We Hunted a Mouse. Humorous, 
John and Tibbie's Dispute. Scotch 

dialect. 
The Last Hymn. Describes a wreck 

at sea. Parts to be sung, 
The Leak in the Dyke, by Phoebe Gary. 

Dramatic, 



Lost and Found". A pathetic story of 

the Welsh mines. 

Magdalena ; or, the Spanish Duel. Hu' 
morous. 

The Maiden Martyr. Pathetic. 

Membraneous Croup and the McWil- 
liamses, by Mark Twain, Humor- 
ous. 

Old Ironsides, by O. W, Holmes. Pa- 
triotic. 

Over the Hills and Far Away, by Miss 
Mulock. Beautiful bit of pathos. 

The Prisoner of Chillon, by Byron. A 
very dramatic selection. 

The Puritans, by T, B, Macaulay. 
. Strong prose description of our fore- 
fathers. 

Samantha Smith Becomes Josiah 
Allen's Wife, by Josiah Allen's Wife. 
Humorous. 

The Schoolmaster's Guests, by Will 
Carleton. Humorous. 

The Swell's Soliloquy. Impersonation 
of a dude. 

Uncle Daniel's Introduction to aMls^ 
sissippi Steamer, by Clemens and 
Warner. One of the best negro dia- 
lect pieces ever written. 

Why Biddie and Pat Married. Amus- 
ing Irish dialect. 



NUMBER SIX 



irtemus Ward's London Lecture. One 
of the best humorous pieces ever 
written. 

fesleep at the Switch. A thrilling in- 
cident in the experience of a switch 
tender. 

The Battle of Ivry, by T. B, Macaulay. 
A standard dramatic piece. 

The Bridge of Sighs, by Thomas Hood, 
A popular pathetic poem. 

A Day at Niagara, by Mark Twain. 
Humorous. 

The Deserted House, by Tennyson. 
Beautiful description of life and death. 

Doctor Marigold, by Charles Dickens, 
Sometimes known as Cheap Jack. 
Good for characterization. 

The Dukite Snake, by J. Boyle O'Reilly, 
Exceedingly dramatic. 

Easter Morning. For Easter. 

Extract from the Last Days of Hercu- 
laneum. Fine dramatic description. 

Father Phil's Collection. One of the 
best of the Irish dialect recitations. 

. 5reen Mountain Justice. Humorous, 
lane Conquest. Very dramatic. The 
incident is that of a wreck at sea. 

The Little Hatchet Story. A humor- 
ous description of the incident of 
George Washington and the cherry 
tree. Very popular. 



Miss Edith Helps Things Along, by 

Bret Harte. Humorous characteriza- 
tion of a pert child. 

The Old Sergeant. A pathetic story of 
the Civil War. 

The Palmetto and the Pine. A fig- 
urative description of the North and 
South. 

Relentless Time, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. Good for teaching purposes. 

The Ride of Jennie McNeal, by Will 
Carleton. A story of colonial days, 

Robert of Lincoln, by William Cullen 
Bryant. Introduces bird songs. 

Satan and the Grog Seller. A fine 
temperance piece. 

School Called. A pleasing poem, illus- 
trative of school life. 

Songs in the Night. An amusing 
sleeping car incident. 

St. John, the Aged. Beautiful spiritual 
poem. 

Thanatopsis, by William Cullen Bry- 
ant. Excellent for teaching. Always 
popular as a recitation. 

A Thanksgiving, by Lucy Larcom. For 
Thanksgiving. 

Tom, by Constance Fenimore Woolson, 
Tells how a dog saved the life of a 
child. 

Valley Forge, by Henry Armitt Brown. 
Good for teaching. 

Zekle, by James Russell Lowell. Y«n« 
kee courting. 



NUMBER SEVEJT 



^he American War, by Lord Chatham. 
A fine forensic selection. 

The Crescent and the Cross, by T. B. 
Aldrich. A beautiful contrast be- 
tween Christianity and Mohammed- 
anism. 

Cuddle Doon. A pleasing bit of Scotch 
dialect. 

Daisy's Faith. Popular child charac- 
terization. 

The Death of the Owd 'Squire. A fine 
dramatic piece. Scene in York- 
shire. 

The Death of the Old Year, by Tenny- 
son. For New Year's. 

The Death of Nelson, by Robert South- 
ey. Good for teaching. 

Fair Play for Women, by George Wil- 
liam Curtis. An appeal for the rights 
of woman. 

The Gray Honors the Blue, by Henry H. 
Watterson. Good for Decoration 
Day. 

The Leper, by N. P. Willis. A strong 
dramatic recitation. 

Lighthouse May, Showing the hero- 
ism of a lighthouse keeper. 

Marco Bozzaris, by Fitz-Greene Hal- 
leck. Familiar and popular. 

Masters of the Situation, by James T. 
Field. Excellent teaching selection. 

Mount Blanc Before Sunrise, by S. T. 
Coleridge. A beautiful oratorical 
poem. 



The Night Before Christmas. Always 
popular for Christmas entertainments. 

The Night After Christmas. A humor- 
ous secjuel to the foregoing selection. - 

Old Robin , by J. T. Trowbridge. How 
a horse saves his master from moral 
ruin. 

Our Traveled Parson, by Will Carleton. 
Humorous. 

The Owl-Critic, by James T. Fields. 
Very clever humor. 

Paradise. An excellent encore piece. 

A Royal Princess, by Christina Ros- 
setti. A strong dramatic recitation. 

The Ship of Faith. An exceedingly 
good negro dialect piece. 

Sister and I. Pathetic and very popu- 
lar. 

The South "Wind, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. A pleasing description. 

Surly Tim's Trouble. Pathetic and 
very popular. Lancashire dialect. 

Tom's Little Star. A humorous poem 
describing the experience of a stage- 
struck woman. 

The Village Blacksmith, by Henrj^ W. 
Longfellow. Always popular. 

The Voice in the Twilight, by Mrs. 
Herrick Johnson. Suitable for Sun- 
day-schools. 

Widow Brown's Christmas. A pleas- 
ing Christmas story. 

The Wounded Soldier. Pathetic. The 
incident is that of a dying soldier. 



NUMBER EIGHT 



After Death, by Edwin Arnold. A 
beautiful spiritual poem. 

An American Specimen, by Mark 
Twain. Humorous. 

The Bald-Headed Man. Very funny, 
introducing an inquisitive child. 

Bay Billy. An incident of the Civil 
War. Good for Decoration Day. 

Better in the Morning. Very pathetic. 

The Character of Washington. For 
Washington's Birthday. 

A Christmas Carol, by Father Ryan. 
A magnificent poem; parts to be 
chanted. 

Ibney Island Down Der Pay, by Henry 
Firth Wood. German dialect. 

The Defense of Lucknow, by Tenny- 
son. A patriotic recitation. 

The Emigrant's Story, by J. T. Trow- 
bridge. The incident is that of a 
storm on the prairie. 

The Everlasting Memorial, by Hora- 
tius Bonar. Good for Sunday-schools. 

The First Quarrel, by Tennyson. Dra- 
matic and pathetic. 

Her Letter, by Bret Harte. A story of 
early California days. 

How "Ruby" Played. A country- 
man's very humorous description of 
the playing of Rubenstein. 

An International Episode. Good for 
eucore, ___ 



Little Feet. Pathetic. 

Mrs. McWilliams and the Lightning, 
by Mark Twain. Humorous. 

Nations and Humanity, by George 
William Curtis. Oratorical. 

Over the Hill From the Poor House, by 
Will Carleton. A sequel to " Over 
the Hill to the Poor House." 

An Order for a Picture, by Alice Carey. 
A very acceptable pathetic selection. 

Peace in God, by Harriet Beecher 
Stowe. For Sunday-schools. 

A Practical Young Woman. Humorous. 

Reckoning with the Old Year. For 
New Year's. 

Reply to Hayne, by Daniel Webster. 
Oratorical and good for teaching. 

Rest, by George MacDonald. Good 
for Sunday-schools. 

Scene from Leah the Forsaken. Gener- 
ally known as the " Curse Scene." 

Setting a Hen. German dialect. Some- 
times known as Sockery Setting a 
Hen. 

The Sioux Chief's Daughter, by Joar 
quin Miller. Very dramatic and ex- 
ceedingly popular, 

A Tale of the Yorkshire Coast. A 
pathetic selection in Yorkshire dia- 
lect. 

Vashti, by Julia C4 lR.lDorr. V«3F 
popular, __, . . 



NUMBER NINE 



fhe Aged Stranger ; or, I Was With 

Grant, by Bret Harte. Humorous 
incident of the Civil War. 

Awfully Lovely Philosophy. Charac- 
terization of a gushing, aesthetic 
young girl. 

Baby's Visitor. Encore. 

Bertha in the Lane, by Mrs. Browning. 
Pleasing pathos. 

Brier Rose, by Hjalmar Hjorth Boye- 
sen. A thrilling Norwegian story. 

The Child on the Judgment Seat. 
Moral and spiritual. Good for Sun- 
day-schools. 

A Christmas Ballad. A pathetic Christ- 
mas story. 

Connor. Very pathetic and popular. 

The First Party. Humorous child 
characterization. 

Horatius at the Bridge, by T. B. 
Macaulay. Heroic. Very popular. 

Last Prayer of Mary Queen of Scots. 
Pathetic and dramatic. 

Lookout Mountain. German dialect. 

Master Johnny's Nezt-door Neighbor, 
by Bret Harte. Boy characteriza- 
tion. 

Mrs. Walker's Betsy. A story of 
humble life told in graphic lan- 
guage. 

Hrs. Ward's Visit to the 
perior Yankee dialect. 



The National Ensign. A patriotic deei 

lamation. 

The Palace of the King. Scotch dia- 
lect. 

Rover's Petition, by James T. Fields. 
A good child's piece. 

The Sailing of King Olaf. Beautiful 
sentiment. 

Sam's Letter. An extract from " Our 
American Cousin." 

School Begins To-day. Appropriate 
for the opening of schools. 

Selling the Farm. A pathetic story of 
farm life. 

Song of the Camp, by Bayard Taylor. 
Introduces the song of Annie Laurie. 

St. George and the Dragon. Dramatic. 

Terpsichore in the Flat Creek Quarters. 
Describes a dance among the ne- 
groes. 

Thoughts for a New Year. For New 
Year's. 

Tribute to Washington . For Washing- 
ton's Birthday. 

The Truth of Truths, by Ruskin. 
Good for teaching. 

Unnoticed and Unhonored Heroes. 
Oratorical. 

The White Squall, by William M. 
Thackeray. Humorous. 

The Widow and Her Son, by Washing- 
ton Irving. Beautiful and pathetic. 



NUMBER TEN 



Armageddon, by Edwin Arnold. The 
war cry of the future. 

Balaklava. A dramatic incident in 
the Crimean war. 

The Blind Lamb, by Celia Thaxter, A 
pleasing child's recitation. 

Caught in the Quicksand, by Victor 
Hugo. Very dramatic. 

Chickamauga. Good for Decoration 
Day. 

The Death of Rowland. Heroic. 

Despair, by Tennyson. Dramatic. 

Dick Johnson's Picture. An interest- 
ing temperance piece. 

Drifting, by Thomas Buchanan Read. 
A most pleasing recitation. 

Herve Riel, by Robert Browning. A 
fine dramatic recitation. 

The Irrepressible Boy. Introduces an 
inquisitive boy. 

Jamie, by R. C. V. Meyers. Dramatic 
and pathetic. 

Larrie O'Dee. Irish dialect. 

The Law of Death, by Edwin Arnold. 
Pathetic. 

Little Dora's Soliloquy. Child charac- 
terization. 

Little Rocket's Christmas, by Van- 
dyke Brown. A pleasing Christmas 
story, 

The Lost Found, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. An extract from " Evange- 
line." 



Mick Tandy's Revenge. Pathetic but 
with a pleasing ending. 

New England's Chevy Chase, by Ed- 
ward Everett Hale. Patriotic. 

The Old Year and the New, by Eben 
Rexford. For New Year's. 

The Phantom Ship, by Celia Thaxter. 
A tale of a slave ship. 

A Railway Matinee, by R. J. Burdette. 
Very amusing. 

Rizpah. Pathetic. Parts to be sung. 

A Reminiscence of Exhibition Day, by 
R.J. Burdette. Humorous. 

Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks. Negro 
dialect. 

The Schoolmaster Beaten, by Charles 
Dickens. Dramatic. Excellent for 
characterization. 

The Shriving of Guinevere, by Dr. S. 
Weir Mitchell. Dramatic. 

The Sky, by Ruskin. A beautiful de- 
scription. 

Theology in the Quarters. Negro dia- 
lect. 

Tilghman'sRide. How he brought the 
news from Yorktown to Philadelphia. 

To the Survivors of the Battle of Bun- 
ker Hill, by Daniel Webster. Patri- 
otic and oratorical. 

The True Story of Little Boy Blue. A 
pleasing child's piece. 

The Wayside Inn, by Adelaide Prooteri 
Pathetic. 



NUMBER ELEVEN 



Apostrophe to the Ocean, by Byron. 
Excellent for vocal training. 

The Bobolink. Affords opportunities 
for bird tones. 

Catching the Colt. A good recitation 
for young folks. 

The Clown's Baby. A pleasing inci- 
dent of life in a mining camp. 

The Convict's Soliloquy the Night be- 
fore Execution. Exceedingly dra- 
matic. 

Death of Little Dombey, by Charles 
Dickens. Pathetic. 

The Dutchman's Snake. Very amus- 
ing. 

Echo and the Ferry, by Jean Ingelow. 
A beautiful description. 

Flash, the Fireman's Story, by Will 
Carleton. Humorous. 

The Foxes' Tails ; or Sandy MacDon- 
ald's Signal. One of the most de- 
servedly popular humorous pieces in 
print. 

The Freckle-Faced Girl. Humorous 
characterization of a pert voung girl. 

The Froward Duster, by R. J. Burdette. 
Humorous. 

Garfield at the Wheel. Patriotic. 

The Grandmother's Apology , by Tenny- 
son. Old lady characterization. 

Jerry. Newsboy impersonation. 

The" Lisping Lover. Encore. 



Little Gottlieb's Christmas. A pleas* 

ing Christmas story of Germany. 

Mice at Play. Humorous. 

Mona's Waters. Highly dramatic. 

No Kiss. Encore. 

The Old Year and the New, by Joseph 
ine Pollard. For New Year's. 

One Flower for Nelly, by Rose Hart- 
wick Thorpe. For Easter. 

The Prospects of the Republic, by Ed- 
ward Everett. Oratorical. 

Queen Vashti's Lament. Dramati<^ 
and pathetic. 

Rock Me to Sleep. Pathetic. 

Romance of a Hammock. Very clever 
humor. 

The Shadow of Doom, by Celia Thax- 
ter. A dramatic recital. 

Song of the Mystic, by Father Ryan. 
A beautiful moral and religious poem. 

Sunday Fishin' . Negro dialect. 

Supposed Speech of John Adams on the 
Declaration of Independence, by Dan- 
iel Webster. Patriotic. 

A Telephonic Conversation, by Mark 
Twain. Humorous. 

Thora, by Hjalmar Hjorth Boyeseu. 
A Norwegian stor3\ 

Ticket o' Leave, by George R. Sims» 
Dramatic. 

Where ' s Annette ? Dramatic. 

TheWonders Of Genealogy. Humorous. 



NUMBER TWELVE 



Aux Italiens, by Robert Bulwer Lytton. 
Contains singing parts. Very popular. 

Ballad of Cassandra Brown. A tra- 
vesty on some of the modern forms 
of exaggerated elocution. 

The Battle Flag of Shenandoah, by 
Joaquin Miller. A patriotic poem of 
the Civil War, 

The Bells, by Edgar Allen Foe. Ex- 
cellent for vocal culture. 

Bells Across the Snow, by Frances 
Ridley Havergal. A pleasing Christ- 
mas poem. 

The Blind Poet's Wife, by Edward 
Coller. A pleasing narrative. 

The Book Canvasser, by Max Adler. 
Humorous. 

Earnest Views of Life, by Austin 
Phelps, D. D. An instructive dec- 
lamation. 

The Fall of Pemberton Mill, by Eliz- 
abeth Stuart Phelps. One of the most 
pathetic, dramatic, and generally ef- 
fective recitations in print. 

A Fly's Cogitations. Humorous. 

Good-bye. A humorous illustration of 
how women say good-bye to each 
other. 

How Girls Study. Good piece for im- 
personation. 

How the Gospel Came to Jim Oaks. A 
pathetic story of a mining camp, 

Usus, Lover of My Soul, by Eugene J. 
Hall. Very pleasing. Parts to be sung. 



Jimmy Brown ' s Steam Chair . H ighly 
amusing. 

Lasca. Dramatic and pathetic. Scene 
on a Texas cattle ranch. 

The Legend of the Beautiful, by Henry 
W. Longfellow. A strong spiritual 
piece. 

Lincoln's Last Dream, by Hezekiah 
Butterworth. A pathetic poem. 

The Newsboy's Debt, by Helen Hunt 
Jackson. Pathetic. 

Over the Orchard Fence. Old farmer 
characterization. 

Popular Science Catechism. Humor- 
ous. 

Receiving Calls. A humorous experi- 
ence of a minister's wife. 

Santa Claus in the Mines. A 
popular Christmas story of a mining 
camp. 

The Serenade. Encore. 

She Cut His Hair, by the Danbury 
News Man. Humorous. 

The Skeleton's Story. A fine dramatic 
description. 

Teddy McGuire and Paddy O'Flynn. 
Irish dialect. 

Temperance, by the Rt. Rev. John Ire- 
land. A strong address on temper- 
ance. 

A Ter'ble 'Sperience, by Rev. Plato 
Johnson. Negro Dialect. 

Total Annihilation. A good encors 
piece. 



NUMBER THIRTEEN 



The Ancient Miner's Story, by Will 
Carleton. Pathetic. 

Aristarohus Studies Elocution. A tra- 
vesty on some kinds of modern elo- 
cution. 

At Last, by John G. Whittier. A beau- 
tiful spiritual poem. 

Aunt Polly's George Washington. Ne- 
gro dialect. 

Banford's Burglar Alarm. Exceeding- 
ly amusing. 

Canada. A pleasing tribute to our 
cousins across the border. 

The Chase, by Walter Scott. Very dra- 
matic. 

A Child's Dream of a Star, by Charles 
Dickens. Pathetic. 

Ego et Echo, by John G. Saxe. Affords 
excellent opportunities for vocal dis- 
play. 

The Humblest of the Earth Children, 
by Ruskin. A fine description. 

In the Signal Box, a Station Master's 
Story, by George R. Sims. Very pa- 
thetic. 

The Little Quaker Sinner. A -good 
child's piece. 

I/Cad the Way, by Lyman Abbott. A 
fine declamation. 

The Legend of the Organ Builder, by 
Julia C. R. Dorr. A pathetic descrip- 
tion. 



Let the Angels Ring the Bells. A 

pleasing Christmas poem. 

Lord Dundreary in the Country. A 
very taking extract from "Our Ameri- 
can Cousin." 

Mary's Night Ride. An extract from 
" Dr. Sevier." Dramatic. 

Mother and Poet, by Mrs. Browning. 
Dramatic and pathetic. 

A New Cure for Rheumatism, by Robert 
J. Burdette. Highly amusing. 

The Old Continentals. A pleasing trib- 
ute to the soldiers of colonial times. 

The Old Man Goes to Town. Excellent 
opportunities for old man character- 
ization. 

Our Relations to England, by Edward 
Everett. Oratorical. 

Out to Old Aunt Mary's, by James 
Whitcomb Riley. One of this au- 
thor's most popular poems. 

Regulus to the Carthagenians, by E. 
Kellogg. Familiar but always ac- 
ceptable. 

Song of the American Eagle. A good 
patriotic poem. 

The Spring Poet. Humorous. 

The Two Stammerers. Very amusing. 

The V-a-s-e. A humorous description 
of the different pronunciations of the 
word. 

The Yosemite. A sublime description 
of the far-famed valley. 



NUMBER FOURTEEN 



Ballad of the Wicked Nephew, by 
James T. Fields. Humorous. 

Battle of Morgarten, by Mrs. Hemans. 
Heroic. 

Be a Woman, by Dr. Edward Brooks, 
A. M. A beautiful poem. 

Bill and Joe, by Oliver Wendell 
Holmes. Pleasing and clever humor. 

Brudder Yerkes'S Sermon. Negro dia- 
lect. 

A Culprit, by Margaret Vandegrift. 
Humorous. 

* uniel Gray, by J. G. Holland. Beau- 
tiful description. 

fi.he Day is Done, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. The ever pleasing and pop- 
ular poem. 

The Death of Steerforth, by Charles 
Dickens. Exceedingly dramatic. 

ihe Drummer Boy of Mission Ridge. 
Excellent for G. A. R. occasions. 

Going for the Cows, by Eugene J. Hall. 
Introduces various calls. 

The Great Issue, by Edward Everett. 
Oratorical. Good for teaching. 

Jimmy Brown's Sister's Wedding. 

_ Very amusing. 

june, by James Russell Lowell. A well- 
known poem. 

Jupiter and Ten, by James T. Fields. 
Encore. 

King Harold's Speech to his Army be- 
fore the Battle of Hastings, by Bul- 
wer Lytton. Heroic. ^ 



The Life-Boat, by George R. Sims. Pa- 

thetic. 

The Miseries of War, by Chalmers. 
Oratorical. 

Money Musk. A description of a ne- 
gro dance. 

A Mother's Portrait, by Cowper. A 
very pathetic poem. 

Nearer Home, by Phoebe Gary. A beau- 
tiful spiritual poem. 

The Night Watch, by Francois Cop- 
pee. Very dramatic. 

Pockets, by Julian Hawthorne. A 
strong descriptive piece. 

The Puritan, by George William Cur- 
tis. A tribute to our forefathers. 

The Romance of the Swan's Nest, by 
Mrs. Browning. A beautiful descrip« 
tion. 

A Second Trial, by Sara Winter Kel- 
logg. How a boy almost failed in his 
commencement oration. 

The Ship of State. A patriotic decla- 
mation. 

The Sweetest Picture, by Alice Gary. 
A most acceptable poem. 

A Tear of Repentance, by Thomas 
Moore. A beautiful description. 

The Tender Heart, by Helen 3ray 
Cone. Encore. 

The Widow Cummiskey. Clever Irisk 
wit. 

Ulysses , by Tennyson. A pleasing; (fe 
scription. 



NUMBER FIFTEEN 



Auserica. A patriotic jvoem. 

The Bachelors. Exce^^knt humor. 

The Bartholdi Statue, by Julian Haw- 
thorne. An eloquent tribute to the 
Goddess of Liberty. 

Becalmed. Very dramatic. 

Childhood Scenes. A beautiful descrip- 
tion. 

Christmas Guests> A good Christmas 
story. 

Commerce, by Edward Everett. A 
strong declamatory selection. 

A Concord Love Song. Encore. 

Pavid's Lament for Absalom, by N. P. 
Willis. Pathetic and popular. Ex- 
cellent for teaching. 

The Death of Jezebel. Very dramatic. 

The Fading Leaf, by Gail Hamilton. 
A beautiful description. 

Fall In ! i860, by George W. Cable. 
An incident in the formation of the 
Southern Army. 

Flag of the Rainbow, by Thomas 
Dunn English. Patriotic. 

Grant's Place in History. An histori- 
cal description. 

The Gray Champion, by Nathaniel 
Hawthorne. Embodies the spirit of 
American freedom. 

Guessing Nationalities, by Mark 
Twain. Humorous. 

In the Children's Hospital, by Tenny- 
son. Pathetic. 



Ireland to be Ruled by Irishmen, hf 

William E. Gladstone. Irish patriot- 
ism. Good for declamation. 

King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, by 
Tennyson. A beautiful recitation. 

The Kiss Deferred. A pleasing pathetic 
poem. Very popular. 

La'Tour d'Auvergne. Heroic. 

Little Foxes, by R. J. Burdette. Aa 
instructive selection. 

Mrs. Picket's Missionary Box. Good 
for missionary occasions. 

Music in Camp. Frequently known as 
"Music on the Rappahannock." 
Parts to be sung. Very popular. 

An Old Roundsman's Story, by Mar- 
garet Eytinge. For Christmas. 

A Perfectly, Awfully, Lovely Story. 
An aesthetic exaggeration. 

The Price of a Drink, by Josephine Pol- 
lard. Good for temperance occasions. 

She Wanted to Hear it Again. Encore. 

Speech Against the Stamp Act, by 
James Otis. Oratorical. 

A Strange Experience, by Josephine 
Pollard. A good girl's piece. 

The Three Kings, by Henry W. Lonjj- 
fellow. A good descriptive poem. 

A Tragedy on Past Participles. Hu- 
morous. 

The Two Runaways, by H. S. Ed- 
wards. Negro dialect. Humorous* 
Very popular. 

Watch Night, by Horatius Bonner. 
For New Year's. 



NI/MBEK SIXTEEN 



Back from the War, by T. DeWitt Tal- 
mage. Good for^G. A. R. occasions. 

The Battle Hymn. Oratorical and 
good for teaching. 

Calls. A minister's somewhat curious 
boy endeavors to get an explanation 
of ministerial calls. Ver>' funny. 

The Chariot Race, by Lew Wallace. 
One of the most popular pieces ever 
written. An extract from " Ben Hur." 

The Christening. An amusing incident 
of how a child was misnamed in the 
christening. 

The Curse to Labor, by T. V. Powderly. 
A strong appeal for temperance 
among the laboring classes. 

The Day of Judgment, by Elizabeth 
Stuart Phelps. An amusing incident 
of two children who thought the 
world had come to an end. 

Decoration Day, by Wallace Bruce. A 
beautiful patriotic poem. 

The Elf Child, by James Whitcomb 
Riley. Sometimes known as "The 
Gobble-uns'll Git You." 

Fraudulent Party Outcries, by Daniel 
Webster. Oratorical. 

An Invitation to the Zoological Gar- 
dens. A very funny stuttering piece. 

Jimmy Hoy, by Samuel Lover. A capi- 
tal Irish dialect prose selection. 



Lily Servoss's Ride, by Judge Tov^rgee. 

The incident takes place at the close 

of the war during the ravages i/ the 

Ku-Klux. 
The Message of the Dove, by E. Ncsbit. 

A dramatic Easter poem. 
The Mourner a la Mode, by John G. 

Saxe. A satirical poem. 
The New South, by Henry W. Grady. 

A graphic description of the present 

condition of the South. 
An Old Sweetheart of Mine, by James 

Whitcomb Riley. A very popular 

poem. 
The Portrait, by Lord Lytton. Very 

dramatic and exceedingly popular. 
Praying for Shoes, by Paul Hamilton 

Hayne. Pathetic. 
Song' of the Mountaineers, by T. Bu^ 

chanan Read. A patriotic poem. 
The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allen 

Poe. A murderer's confession. Ex- 
ceedingly dramatic. 
The Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor, 

by Hezekiah Butterworth. A splen- 
did Thanksgiving piece. 
Topsy's First Lesson, by Harriet 

Beecher Stowe. An extract from 

"Uncle Tom's Cabin." Very funny. 
Toussaint L'Ouverture, by Wendell 

Phillips. Oratorical. 



irUlllIfeER SEVENTEEN- 



ilexander's Feast j or, the Power of 
Music, by Dryden. A beautiful rhyth- 
mical poem. 

Army of the Potomac, by Joaquin 
Miller. An excellent poem for 
G. A, R. occasions. 

^unt Melissy on Boys, by J. T. Trow- 
bridge. The incident is that of tur- 
keys becoming intoxicated by eating 
corn soaked in rum. 

Dead on the Field of Honor. A good 
declamation. 

Easter Morning, by Henry Ward 
Beecher. An Easter-tide oration. 

The First Thanksgiving, by Hezekiah 
Butterworth. A beautiful poem for 
Thanksgiving occasions. 

The Garfield Statue, by Hon. Grover 
Cleveland. An eloquent tribute to 
the martyred President. 

How We Fought the Fire, by Will 
Carleton. An amusing poem, descrip- 
tive of a fire in a country villiage. 

Inge, the Boy King, by Hjalmar Hjorth 
Boyesen. An excellent dramatic 
selection. 

Jimmy Brown's Prompt Obedience. 
Humorous. 

Labor, by Thomas Carlyle. A prose 
declamation. 

The Land of Thus and So, by James 
Whitcomb Riley. A fanciful poem. 

The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi, by 



Henry W- Longfellow. A beauUM 
and instructive poem. 

Lexington, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
A patriotic poem. 

Love of Country, by Newton Booth. 
Patriotic. 

The Low-Backed Car, by Samuel 
Lover. Very popular Irish dialect 
poem. Humorous. 

The Minuet. A pleasing poem, intro- 
ducing the minuet step. 

The Monk's Magnificat, by E. Nesbit. 
A very popular poem in which a 
chant is effectively introduced. 

Mr. Brown Has His Hair Cut. A very 
amusing prose selection. 

The Poor and the Rich, by James Rus- 
sell Lowell. A fine moral and in- 
structive poem. 

The Ride of Collins Graves, by John 
Boyle O'Reilly. A thrilling descrip- 
tion of the bursting of a dam. 

Rome and Carthage, by Victor Hugo. 
A strong dramatic declamation. 

Sent Back by the Angels. Pathetic 
and a very popular selection. 

The Silver Plate, by Margaret J. Pres- 
ton. A child offers itself as a con* 
tribution to a missionary collection. 

The Vow of Washington, by John G. 
Whittier. Eulogistic of the work of 
Washington. 

A Wild Night at Sea, by Charles Dick- 
ens. A strong dramatic description. 



NUMBER EIGHTEEN 



ibsolution, by E. Nesbit. A popular 
poem. Dramatic and pathetic. 

Appeal for Temperance, by Henry W. 
Grady. An eloquent address on the 
subject of Temperance, 

Ballot Reform, by Hon. Grover Cleve- 
land. Oratorical. 

The Blind Man's Testimony. A good 
Sunday-school piece. 

The Captain's Well. One of the last 
poems of John G. Whittier. 

Charity Grinder and the Postmaster 
General, by Mary Kyle Dallas. A 
popular humorous selection. 

Daniel Periton's Ride, by Judge Tour- 

f:ee. A thrilling incident of the great 
ohnstown flood. 

The Defense of the Bride, by Anna 
Katherine Green. A popular dra- 
matic poem. 

The Death Bridge of the Tay, by Will 
Carleton. Pathetic, but with a pleas- 
ing ending. 

The Drunkard's Daughter, by Eugene 
J. Hall. A pathetic temperance selec- 
tion. 

The Grand Old Day, by Will Carleton. 
A Thanksgiving poem. 

Imph-m. A very popular bit of Scotch 
dialect. 

tittle Charlie ' s Christmas . A pathetic 
Christmas story. 



The Man in the Moon, by James Whit- 
comb Riley. A quaint humorous 
poem. 

Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy, by I. H. 
Brown. A dram.atic incident of th? 
Revolutionary War. 

New Year's Hymn, by Frances Ridley 
Havergal. Good for New Year's 
occasions. 

A New Series of Census Questions. 
Very amusing. 

A Packet of Letters, by Oliver Herford. 
A very clever humorous poem. 

The Pilgrims, by Chauncey M. Depew. 
An eloquent tribute to our forefathers. 

She Liked Him Rale Weel. A pleasing 
bit of Scotch dialect. 

St. Martin and the Beggar, by Mar- 
garet E. Sangster. Good for Sunday- 
schools. 

Taste, by James Whitcomb Riley. An 
excellent encore poem. 

Tobe's Monument. A very popular 
pathetic selection. 

Two Christmas Eves, by E. Nesbit. A 
pathetic and dramatic poem. 

The Volunteer Organist, by S. W. Foss. 
Pathetic and very popular. 

The Whistling Regiment, by Jarnes 
Clarence Harvey. Describes an in- 
cident of the Civil War, introducing 
the song of "Annie Laurie." 




practical Elocution 

By J. W. Shoemaker, A, M. 

300 pages 
Cloth, Leather Back, $1.35 
This work is the outgrowth of 
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Conversation, which is the basis of all true Elocution^ 
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General principles and practical processes are pre- 
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Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
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The Penn Publishing Company 

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SHOEMAKER'S 



Tfhe National School 

°' Elocution and Oratory 



ODD FELLOWS' TEMPLE 

Broad and Cherry Streets 
Philadelphia 



PERSONS wishing: to obtain practical trainingf and 
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Principals < ^ 

\ GEORGE B. HYNSON, ESQ* 



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